Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Resilience ❯ Part VII ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Bleach and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property of Kubo Tite and all companies holding the rights to its license and distribution (including Shueisha Jump Comics, Studio Pierrot, TV Tokyo, Viz, etc.). Used for a non-profit entertainment purpose.
 
Warnings: uhh... language and a little blood this time around
 
If you have questions on any of the historical, mythological or cultural material in this chapter, don't hesitate to ask!
 
Sorry for the horribly long wait, folks! Ee. -hides in shame- Notes are at the end of the chapter.
 
Shout-outs go to Kellen for letting me throw this at her in pieces for feedback (and she gave me loads of encouragement, the dear), and to Angelica Incarnate for letting me throw the entire monster at her for a beta read. She'll get back to me on that when she gets a day off.
 
--
 
Part VII
 
There was a brief moment of hesitation before the half-familiar world floated back to him from the dark in a pair of not-quite-identical mirrors reminiscent of a pair of “televisions” from the Living World, but nothing made any sense. Something - a whisper, a fleeting recollection - was worried about a hallway with doors, but such thoughts hurt too much to dwell upon. A deep voice rumbled in the back of his mind, a warning growl that never quite seemed to make it all the way to cognizance. Perhaps it was his own imagination that he'd heard such a thing, but when another chilling voice breathed a single word in his ear, he shuddered and looked over his shoulder to find nothing there in the darkness.
 
Choose,” it said again.
 
And he did, despite the insistent - muffled - guttural snarls of a beast in the shadows, selecting the mirror that seemed the most familiar. As he pressed forward, his hand slid through the cool glass and pulled him inward.
 
--
 
1877
 
“Kazuki.”
 
His mother's voice was insistent from the back entrance to the smithy, abruptly catching his attention from his current project - he nearly smacked his own thumb with the hammer. He tossed her an exasperated look, which faded the moment he saw that her eyes were serious. She wanted to talk.
 
“Mother,” he greeted. “Can this wait until dinner time?”
 
She bit her lip and looked away. It probably could wait, no matter how much she fidgeted in the meantime. He did have to finish his current order for a dozen horseshoes before he left, after all. After a few moments of silence, she nodded.
 
“Please don't stay too late.”
 
Kazuki nodded and said goodbye, and then he sighed when his mother left. She'd become increasingly upset of late, especially since they'd had no word from his father for nearly a year now. The only word of his father's whereabouts came from the news, in which it sounded like Saigo Takamori's band was constantly on the move to escape government forces. Without his father around, Kazuki had managed to gain a reputation of his own as a blacksmith; even though he had yet to actually receive the actual title, he was treated as though he had already obtained it.
 
The horseshoes were an easy order; they were for the new government-run courier's office down the street. Despite the fact that nearly everyone knew Murae Masahiro was part of the group of samurai currently putting up a small resistance to the changes the government had so far made in terms of the now-disbanded samurai class, Kazuki noticed that business at the smithy hadn't diminished too horribly as a result, even if some of his clients were government workers. Like the couriers technically were.
 
Once Kazuki finished the last horseshoe, he placed it with the others and closed up the shop quickly before he hurried home. He was looking forward to a nice hot bath and a meal, and was so intent on thinking about such pleasantries that he hardly noticed that he'd nearly walked into the person standing by the gate at his home.
 
Toushirou...
 
“Kazuki-kun!”
 
Kazuki blinked, confused. Had he just heard another voice speaking? Shaking his head, he realized it had to have been a trick of the mind, and then a smile lit up his face as he recognized his friend.
 
“Y-Yori-kun! It's been a while!”
 
“It has, hasn't it?” Yori gave a solid thwack on the back of Kazuki's shoulders in greeting. “Hoi, Kazuki, you've grown some meat on those shoulders of yours! Must be all that blacksmith work you've been doing lately.”
 
Kazuki rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, well, somebody had to do it.”
 
“Look at you, all grown up and running your family business, and you haven't even received your eboshi-na yet!”
 
Shifting uncomfortably, Kazuki murmured an agreement. “What about you?” he asked suddenly. “How is your family?”
 
“Oh, same as always,” Yori replied with half a grin. “Boring. You know how that is.”
 
Kazuki grinned back. “I suppose I do.” He looked beyond Yori's shoulder to his home. “Well, I should head on inside; my mother is waiting dinner on me. It's been great talking to you. We need to catch up properly again some time.”
 
“I should be heading back myself,” Yori agreed. “Take care, and don't wait so long before you come visit me the next time!”
 
Kazuki wasn't about to point out that Yori was the one who had visited him, but he was indeed grateful for the companionship, even if it was only for a matter of moments. He waved as Yori turned and began walking home. “Same to you as well. Later!”
 
Yori waved back over his shoulder, and for a second, his friend's image seemed to distort and fade, as if the image was unfocused. Kazuki faltered, but when he blinked several times, nothing was out of the ordinary - Yori was solid again. With a sigh, he muttered to himself about working too much and not getting enough sleep, and then he turned and trudged back towards his own home.
 
He was so lost in his own thought when he walked inside and called a half-hearted greeting to his mother that he almost missed the fact that there was a near feast set out in the dining area, and that there was a neatly wrapped parcel at his usual seat.
 
Then it clicked when he saw his mother kneeling solemnly at her usual dinner place. Genpuku. She wanted to give him the proper adult status, now that he was running the business and his father had shown no signs of returning yet. He was of the proper age. Heart fluttering nervously, he was suddenly both excited and scared out of his mind. He wished his father could be there.
 
Dinner went without much fanfare, and Kazuki found that the parcel contained a new set of clothing in the adult style. He was sure his mother would tackle his hair once they'd finished their supper.
 
Which she did, though shaving parts of the head - once part of tradition - was now an outdated practice with the passing of the samurai class. Then, as according to tradition, she had him get dressed into his new clothing, and they took the short walk to a nearby shrine, a tribute to the Murae family's patron kami Ryujin. The Murae line was supposedly a long-distant branch family of the Imperial court, but Kazuki had his doubts.
 
The shrine was quiet at night, lit only by a smattering of paper lanterns as Kazuki and his mother each tossed coins into the altar and performed the praying ritual. While Kazuki was praying, he shivered; he could have sworn he felt the cool, icy breath and deep, rumbling voice of something that couldn't be seen by the naked eye.
 
Toushirou...”
 
Shuddering again, he finished his prayer and looked up at the shrine. His mother turned to him with a wry smile, and he knew that she too would have wished for Masahiro to be present for this small - but very important - ceremony. He probably would have insisted making a larger deal out of it than she had.
 
Then his mother gave him his adult name: Masaru.
 
She had probably discussed with his father a long time ago what name they would give their son once he came of age. It needed to be something that would contain a piece of his father, and yet would set himself apart as an individual adult. The name also acknowledged his natural business sense; it gave him a small measure of pride to know that his mother had such confidence in him.
 
The ceremony had been simple, quick, and yet it was a huge moment for Kazuki - now Masaru. His mother was a brave woman to attempt it alone; but hadn't the famous samurai Toyotomi Hideyoshi had only his mother perform his genpuku? That thought made him feel a little more at ease about his father's absence during such an important moment.
 
The following weeks went by in much of a blur; now that Masaru was an adult, he was also officially a full-fledged blacksmith, head of the family business. Because of his new status, he received more orders than he ever had before. And the busier he became, the more strange his dreams and daydreams became.
 
It had started at first with the quiet, smooth voice calling a name he didn't recognize, but he felt like he should. And on occasion, he was sure he caught sight of a strange-looking room, filled with contraptions and people who were only half-familiar, and on those occasions he always came back to reality covered in sweat and gasping for air.
 
He blamed it on the amount of time he was putting into his work. Maybe he should find an apprentice for himself, or at least someone else capable of assisting him as he filled the orders. He would have to discuss that decision with his mother, who - although he was technically head of the family - still held the purse strings. Finance was a woman's job, anyway.
 
Masaru had nearly forgotten his promise to catch up again later with his friend Yori until Yori came strutting into his shop one day as Masaru was closing the shop; he was wearing his adult clothes and looking rather proud of himself.
 
“Murae-kun,” Yori greeted.
 
“It's Masaru now, my friend,” Masaru replied with a grin.
 
Yori's parents had given him the name Masao, which fit Yori's straightforward and honest personality quite well. After Masaru closed the shop, he followed Masao to the nearest tavern for a drink before he headed home. The two friends chatted amicably about how different the town seemed now, and mused about how much each had grown since they'd last played together as children. It seemed almost surreal to Masaru.
 
As they were enjoying each other's companionship, however, several government officials - newly-appointed and wearing the bizarre Western style of clothing - stumbled in, drunk, arguing about some sort of problem that was going on in the office. Masaru tensed when he heard the name Saigo Takamori flung about, and started trying to listen to more of what they were arguing about, hoping to catch some word of how his father might be faring. Masao seemed to notice his friend's discomfort and also began to turn a listening ear to the conversation at hand.
 
“The man's a lunatic!” one of the officials insisted, waving a finger in the air as if it would give his statement more credibility. “He's obviously so crazy that he doesn't even realize that the samurai class just doesn't exist anymore.”
 
“He still managed to take down an entire division of infantry,” a second man pointed out. “He's certainly got the advantage of battle experience; none of you men can deny that.”
 
“I think he's too old-fashioned,” said another. “He's getting old and senile and stuck in his ways; he was one of the few samurai who actually did well on the old system, you know how old folks get. They don't like progress; don't trust it or the foreigners. If he could just see the error in his way of thinking and open up his mind a little, he wouldn't be putting up such a fight. And if he's not fighting us, then we wouldn't be losing so many men to him.”
 
“Why do you two even think Saigo's a threat?” a fourth said irritably. “He's got his little band of buddies who still think the sword is the way to go. Who cares that they won one tiny skirmish? That was simply a matter of inexperience on the part of our soldiers. They've been trained now, and besides, we've got an entire armory of foreign weapons. We all know that swords are nothing against a well-trained rifle division.” The man knocked back the cup of sake he had been nursing. “They're not going to last long, once they make their final stand. It's only a matter of time, and after he's gone, he'll disappear from the map like the little bug he is.”
 
Masaru sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, fist clenching. He might not agree with his father's philosophy on life, but his father wasn't simply some bug to be squashed by the government! He didn't even realize his lips were curled in a snarl until Masao placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. Forcing himself to relax, he nodded back at his friend, and the two of them paid their tab and quickly left the inn before Masaru changed his mind.
 
“I'm really sorry about that, Masaru,” Masao said once they were a ways down the road. “Have you heard any news from your father at all?”
 
“No,” Masaru replied quietly. “But that's fine; Mother and I are getting along well enough on our own right now.”
 
“Let me know if you two need anything,” his friend offered as they approached Masaru's home. “I'm still in the same home as always.”
 
“Thank you,” Masaru said, offering a wry smile for Masao's sake.
 
The two bid their farewell, and Masaru walked inside, prepared to apologize to his mother for coming home later than usual. She would probably be worried, but not upset; he was an adult now and could make his own decisions after he got off of work. However, he was surprised to find his home eerily dark and silent as he walked in and announced his return.
 
“Mother?” he called uncertainly, and was met with silence.
 
The dining room was dark, as was his mother's quarters. But as he looked through the back courtyard to see if she was in the garden, he saw a dim light coming from the dojo. Quietly approaching, he slid open the door to find his mother kneeling - seemingly in meditation - her back to him. As he approached her from behind, he saw that there was a suit of samurai armor sitting in front of her - familiar samurai armor.
 
His father's.
 
And then he knew exactly what had happened. His father wouldn't be returning in this life. Placing a hand on his mother's shoulders, he noticed that she was trembling with quiet sobs. So strong, his mother was - trying so hard not to show weakness in front of her son. He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, swallowing the bile that had suddenly found its way to the back of his throat. Quietly, he took the armor from her and rearranged it properly, placing the familiar swords on an engraved wood rack just above them as he quietly vowed to build a shrine in his father's memory.
 
Several weeks later, small shrine built and mother finally beginning to overcome her shock, they received word that Saigo Takamori's small band of renegade samurai had been put down. Masaru couldn't help but feel a sudden stab of worry that things were going to change for the worse.
 
--
 
Ukitake didn't want to watch anymore.
 
In all the years he'd known the younger captain, he'd never seen him this… weak-looking. The boy was sweating heavily, face pale and lips drawn into a pinched, pained line, and he looked like he was having trouble getting air by the way his chest was heaving. For a time, the boy stared dully at nothing and was mumbling quietly in words that made absolutely no sense - doubtful the boy was even speaking Japanese, but that thought was even more troubling. Ukitake tore his eyes away from Hitsugaya and fixed them upon Yamamoto, brow furrowing. The older man had an infuriatingly flat expression as he regarded Hitsugaya, an expression that betrayed nothing of the man's thoughts. In all the centuries that Ukitake had trained under and then served the elderly man, he had never seen him do something this heartless without a just cause. Ukitake was scrambling to find one now, and thus far had come up with fistfuls of air.
 
The crescendo of Hitsugaya's incoherent muttering brought Ukitake's attention back to him, and his eyes widened as he realized that the voice coming from the young man wasn't speaking Japanese after all. In fact, the voice that now came from Hitsugaya's trembling lips was far deeper than it should have been; Ukitake wasn't sure that it was actually Hitsugaya speaking now. Ukitake felt something clench in his chest as he shot a questioning glance at Yamamoto.
 
Yamamoto's eyes were still fixed upon the boy; the old man's expression hadn't changed from before, and Ukitake wanted some answers. Shunsui shuddered from beside him, and Ukitake guessed that his friend was thinking the same thing: Yamamoto knew something that they didn't.
 
A sudden whimper from Hitsugaya brought Ukitake's attention back to the younger captain once more. He was starting to struggle against his bonds, his words becoming even louder and less coherent than they had been earlier. Ukitake saw Yamamoto nod curtly at Kurotsuchi once before he stepped forward.
 
“It has begun,” Yamamoto said in a low voice. “Kyouraku-taichou, Ukitake-taichou - I'm going to need your support.”
 
Shunsui spat in irritation, but Ukitake could tell that he too was shaken by the situation. Either something was horribly wrong with Hitsugaya, or Yamamoto was torturing him needlessly. Again, Ukitake recalled the long history he'd had serving under Yamamoto, and had to wonder if there was something more to this situation than they were being told.
 
Hitsugaya suddenly shrieked as they approached, and then his head limply fell forward, chin resting on his chest.
 
“Hitsugaya-taichou?” Ukitake said as he approached, a hint of worried tremor shaking his voice.
 
Hitsugaya's head snapped up, eyes gleaming with a deep red that replaced the usual icy turquoise, too-broad lips curled in a snarl. A symbol that looked eerily similar to a Chinese yin and yang appeared on the young captain's forehead. Without a single word of warning, Hitsugaya began shouting words that made no sense at all, and the voice that came from Hitsugaya's mouth was far too low to be his. He thrashed against the binding spells.
 
And then it occurred to Ukitake. That's not Hitsugaya.
 
--
 
1879
 
Masaru visited his mother's grave on his way back home from the smithy. It had become a ritual for him for the last six months since her death; he often found himself wondering if she had died from a broken heart, or perhaps from the shame she claimed her late husband had brought their family. Masaru had a feeling that the second issue was a lie, since he could tell in his mother's eyes that she missed Masahiro desperately. Perhaps it had been her way of warning him to be careful, especially considering the newer laws that had been passed.
 
After Saigo's rebellion had been “taken care of,” as the government so lightly put it, there had been new precautionary laws put in place that were a blatant warning sign from the government to its civilians against any further old-school uprisings. At first, there had been a large restriction placed upon katana forging, and that eventually turned into an outright ban on carrying swords. Masaru knew that he wasn't breaking the law simply by having his father's swords at his shrine, but he had always been extremely careful to say nothing about them and keep them out of the general eye of anyone who might give him trouble about it just in case.
 
His new wife, however, was not particularly fond of the idea of having them there. She said he was asking for trouble, and that he should get rid of them. Chie never quite seemed to understand the heritage that the swords symbolized for him; she wasn't of samurai descent, as he was. And although he didn't particularly wish to associate himself with such a lineage in the face of the public, he did feel that he should give some kind of homage to his ancestors.
 
Besides, there hadn't been much of a concern about the sword ban until much more recently. The only ones who were allowed to carry swords were designated police units, and even then, they carried blades fashioned after the Western style rather than the traditional Japanese. It was probably a symbolic choice; represent progress and open borders rather than promote the old style of Japanese samurai life. For some reason, the government had seen fit to send a sword police unit to their village; it didn't matter that they were quite a ways away from the new capital of Tokyo, and that there hardly was any trouble there. Masaru had a sinking feeling that they'd known of the fact that a good dozen samurai in Saigo's group had come from this village, and that they would want to keep an eye out here in case any of their offspring had the grand idea of foolishly following in their fathers' footsteps.
 
At first, the sword police generally minded their own business. Hardly anyone here had swords nowadays; most of the leftover samurai families had lost theirs with their fathers, or had destroyed them in shame and disgust (or perhaps out of fear). But as time passed and not much happened, Masaru could tell by the ever-increasing number of small... incidents in the streets that they were getting bored with the inactivity. Villagers began to fear the police once they began roughing up more people for no apparent reason. But the more the villagers showed fear, the more vicious the police seemed to become. It was as if they were playing a game, a rather violent and disgusting round of cat and mouse. Masaru knew he would have to be extremely careful around them, especially since his father had been one of the dozen who had joined Saigo.
 
Unfortunately, his line of business didn't allow as much escape; on occasion, he would have police as customers in his smithy. Most of them involved sword repairs - Western blades were far inferior to Japanese-style ones, Masaru quickly learned - but some involved more horseshoes for carriages and mounted units. For a while, Masaru had nothing to fear from them. His work had a reputation for being the best in the area, and many of his customers from the police units became repeat customers. For a business, growth was an excellent thing, but for an ex-samurai, such customers were bound to bring trouble to his doorstep.
 
When some of his newer police customers began to pressure and bully him - and then underpay him for reasons he didn't even understand - he figured that someone had slipped out the fact that he was ex-samurai. Or perhaps someone in the ranks had figured it out. The worse the bullying became, the more tempted he became to weaken the blades coming in for repair.
 
He couldn't help that he was losing sleep over the issue. Now that he had a wife to protect, he was scared to death of having them go after her while he was at work, or having them come barge in on their estate at night. Although the police had yet to kill anyone outright - aside from execution, which was handled by government officials rather than the police - there was always that lingering fear that they'd start with him and his wife. He couldn't count on the government to reel in all of their stray dogs, no matter how much they'd promised peace. Police were human, and every bit as corruptible as the rest of humanity.
 
Masaru's fears grew one day when the sword police unit's leader waltzed into his smithy, asking for a repair on his sword in a lilting accent that was clearly not from this half of the country. The leader didn't look anything like what Masaru had expected him to look like; he had the most unique color of hair Masaru had ever seen on anyone purely Japanese, which led him to think that maybe this man was only half, or had some kind of disease that gave his hair more the color of an older man's. It was slicked back under the uniform cap, a few stray strands falling into the man's face. The man smiled so broadly that his eyes were fixed in a near-permanent squint, but there was something dangerous in what should have been a friendly gesture; Masaru couldn't help but feel that it was a sign of deceptiveness.
 
Shoving his personal feelings aside, Masaru took the order as he would with any other customer - the man wanted his sword repaired by the next day. The blade had been cracked near the hilt, threatening the integrity of the sword. Payment would come when the man returned the next day to retrieve his weapon.
 
Masaru barely had the presence of mind to hold back an audible sigh of relief when the man left. There was something about the way that the leader had looked at him that made him incredibly uneasy, as if he knew exactly who Masaru was, and that he was sizing him up as a potential enemy. Sleep probably wouldn't come easy that night.
 
As he worked on the leader's sword, Masaru wondered what the man had been doing to cause the sword to crack like it had... and then he decided he really didn't want to know the answer to that. Western blades are poorly-made, he reminded himself. If he didn't distrust the man so much, he probably would have reinforced the blade as he fixed it to make it stand up better, but he had no way of knowing if that same blade would be turned on him for his efforts.
 
This time, Masaru did sigh. He was being too paranoid, he told himself. He'd never seen that man before-
 
For some reason, the thought wouldn't finish itself, because for a brief moment, the man's image - hair down, clad in traditional garb, same eerie leer etched on his face - came to mind. But he couldn't remember when he'd seen this man like that. A rumbling voice in the back of his mind told him not to trust this man, though that same voice - he'd heard it far more often of late, and it was starting to frighten him - had told him not to trust anything he was seeing right now anyway. Did that mean he shouldn't trust the idea that he'd seen the man before, or was it talking about reality? Gods, he was confused.
 
What the hell is wrong with me?
 
You're in the dark, Toushirou. Let me guide you.”
 
Shuddering, he knew he had to be going crazy. It had to be the lack of sleep - maybe he really should take Chie's advice and close the shop for a few days after he returned the leader's sword to him. If she said he could do it, then they probably had the financial ability for him to do so right now.
 
Blade reforged and repaired, Masaru inspected his work before he polished it. Once that task had been handled with the greatest care he'd dare put into it, he sheathed the sword and placed it in a proper holding case that slid under one of his workbenches. Wiping his hands and face with an already-soiled cloth, he decided that the best thing to do for now would be to go home, take a nice bath, and enjoy his wife's company.
 
She would be pleased to hear he was taking a few days off.
 
Chie was a wonderful woman, Masaru decided when he arrived home to find a bath drawn, and dinner nearly ready to eat. His wife was a wonderful cook, even better than his mother had been - and that was saying something, especially after the way his mother had ridden Chie's case for several months after their marriage to make sure she was fully capable of taking care of her only son. Maybe she had a feeling that he'd had a rough day, or that she had read his mind on his decision to take some time off.
 
And she was pleased to hear about his self-imposed mini-vacation. She even offered to make the signs for him to put up the next day so that his customers would know he wasn't going to be in for a few days. It was times like these that he was reminded that he had to be extremely careful, because he had something to lose.
 
The next morning, Masaru felt a little more resolved to face any challenge the leader might throw his way before their final business transaction had been processed. He had a strange, bad feeling that something wasn't going to go well that day.
 
Much to Masaru's surprise, the leader paid him the full amount he cited with no questions asked, and when Masaru handed him the blade, he simply looked it up and down and commented on the excellent repair work. Masaru replied with customary humility, but in all honesty he was incredibly relieved to see that the man wasn't going to give him any trouble. Yet.
 
There was something hiding under that wickedly friendly grin.
 
After bidding his customers farewell, Masaru took the signs that Chie had written up for him and posted them outside his shop, and he stayed until just past midday before he decided to close up shop. It was a slow day, and he honestly couldn't wait to get home.
 
If Masaru had been surprised at not having any trouble during his transaction that morning, he was even more surprised at finding the sword police unit's leader waiting casually outside his home, casually leaning on the wall surrounding the properly. He was alone, smiling - when did that man not smile? - as Masaru approached.
 
“Can I help you, sir?” Masaru asked as he approached. “If my work was less than satisfactory-”
 
“Oh, not at all,” the leader said, tone just as casual as his stance. “I just am wondering what sort of man you are, for having such a broad knowledge of sword repair.”
 
Masaru could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. Swallowing, he replied as evenly as he could manage, “I would imagine that most blacksmiths should know how to handle sword repairs, at least to an extent. My humble workmanship is nothing compared to the work of a true sword smith.”
 
“But the son of a samurai would understand blades,” the leader retorted.
 
Masaru froze. “What do you want from me, sir?”
 
“Just offering a little word of advice,” the man said, leaning in closely to whisper his next words. “Protect that which is close to you, for you'll never know when it'll be gone, Hitsugaya.
 
The final name stung with familiar ice. Masaru's eyes flew wide, mouth opening in protest, but suddenly the leader was gone, as if he'd vanished into thin air. What the hell had just happened? Had the man mistaken him for someone else?
 
Hitsugaya Toushirou.”
 
He was going insane. He knew it. Voices just didn't speak in a sane person's mind, and people just didn't disappear like that.
 
Chie greeted him with a more than welcome smile as he walked into the back courtyard. She was hanging laundry, but she stopped when her eyes met his, and dropped the linen she was washing back into its wash tub.
 
“Darling? Is everything all right?” she asked, approaching him cautiously.
 
“Y-Yeah,” he said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. He swallowed, mouth dry and tongue thick.
 
“You're shaking like a leaf!” Chie exclaimed, her eyes going wide with worry as she grasped his hands. “Come inside and let me make you some tea.”
 
As much as he wanted to, Masaru knew it wouldn't help. He suddenly needed to get away. “I-I'm going to go on a walk,” he said. “I'll be back in time for dinner.”
 
He left his wife - beautiful, sweet Chie - standing with a worried expression as he hurried out the back gate on their property. I'm so sorry, my love, and he hoped she would know that with her mind-reading trick.
 
Masaru didn't know where his feet were leading him, but after a while he recognized the path to the small shrine in the sakura grove. He hadn't been there in several years, and he'd never even noticed how close it was to the shrine to Ryujin until he saw the fork in the path. One direction would take him to the shelter of the sakura grove, the other would take him to Ryujin.
 
He was an adult now, with Ryujin's blessing - the sakura kami had been his childhood protector, even if he'd never really thought of it that way. With a silent prayer of apology and thanks to the sakura kami, he took the path to Ryujin's shrine.
 
“I thought you'd find your way here,” a familiar voice suddenly said the moment Masaru stepped towards the first orange torii that started the long stretch of them at the shrine's entrance.
 
Masaru whirled to face his friend. “Masao,” he said, voice low. “What are you doing here?”
 
“He came 'cause I asked 'im to,” another eerily familiar voice said from behind him. Masaru felt his shoulders tense as a thin-boned, cold hand rested upon his shoulder. “Now I know you ain't stupid. Surely ya've figured out what all-a this is about.”
 
“You knew my father,” Masaru tried, shaking the man's hand off his shoulder, but then that didn't explain why Masao was there. “Either that, or he told you all about him.”
 
And if that was the case, Masaru wondered why Masao had chosen to get him in trouble.
 
“Tsk.” The policeman shook his head. “Wrong answer, kiddo. Here, lemme give ya a hint, since I'm such a nice fella... don't-cha think, Hitsugaya-taichou?”
 
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” he said, but the words sounded flat even to him. This man knew exactly who he was talking to.
 
“Mm, I reck'n ya just wish that was the case, little taichou. Here, lemme refresh yer memory jus' a little. Surely you know my name?”
 
Gin. Masaru wasn't sure why, but the name stuck out heavily in his mind. His name is Ichimaru Gin, and he's going to kill you if you're not careful.
 
“What the hell is this all about?” Masaru hissed.
 
“Ah, so ya do know.” Gin looked him up and down. “Or at least yer gettin' there.”
 
“Why is Masao here? Clearly, your issue is with me.”
 
“Oh, little taichou, are ya really that blind? Masao ain't what you think he is.”
 
Masaru snorted, casting a withering glare at his friend. “Yeah. I'm starting to see that.”
 
Masao's lips curled up into an unnaturally wicked grin, teeth pointed and sharp. Masaru paused, sensing that something wasn't right. The voice in the back of his mind was hissing sharply in caution, telling him to call upon it.
 
It. A dragon's majestic face came to mind. Ryujin?
 
“Well, it's clear yer on the right track, kiddo. But since I don't want ya to go further than ya've already gone...”
 
Suddenly, Masao crowed with wicked glee with a voice that didn't sound like his, and his body grew and distorted until it became a huge beast with a porcelain mask and sharp claws. Masaru watched with eyes wide as sake dishes as the shadow of his friend - is that really Masao? - grew around him.
 
Get to the shrine!”
 
Masaru scrambled to his feet and tried to run to the long line of torii, but with a sharp blow, he was suddenly airborne. His back hit something solid with breath-stealing force, and he crumpled to the ground with a hiss of pain. When the stars cleared, he saw that Gin was watching him with arms crossed, that damned grin permanently etched into his face. Masaru felt the sudden need to wipe it from the man's face.
 
“Now, now, sit still and this'll all be over right quick,” Gin said as if he was scolding a child. “Ya shoulda realized some time ago that yer friend Masao was dead. M'men were gettin' fidgety; had to give 'em somethin' to toy with while I waited on ya.”
 
It was then that Masaru realized he'd seen this before. This isn't where I died, and Masao wasn't a Hollow.
 
Hollow. He knew exactly what it was that Masao had been turned into. And suddenly, the name made perfect sense - it was him. Hitsugaya Toushirou was his name now, and this place was completely wrong. Suddenly, he looked up at Gin with burning fury. That absolute bastard had something to do with all the things that were wrong here in his memory. He stood on shaky feet, crouching into a more familiar stance that his father had never been able to teach him in life. He was a shinigami, a being of the dead, and a captain.
 
Toushirou - call on me!”
 
But before he could even say Hyourinmaru's name, Gin's smile left him - he'd done that to the man once before, hadn't he? - and Hollow-Masao disappeared. Sharp, blinding pain blossomed from the center of his chest. Looking down, he saw the claw of Hollow-Masao breaking through the skin of his chest, dripping with his own blood. Gin's smile returned.
 
“Well, ya tried, little taichou,” he leered. “It was fun while it lasted.” And then he was gone.
 
The deathly cold breath of the Hollow behind him sent a shudder down Hitsugaya's spine, and he cried out as the claw twisted in his back before the Hollow yanked it away. He fell to his knees, the world quickly fading to black around him, and all he could think about was how wrong all this was, and was that a dragon coming towards him?
 
Instead of fading, the world about him shattered.
 
--
 
The only sound in the darkness was his own harsh wheezing as he tried to draw breath. Pain shot through his chest in the same spot where the Hollow had driven its clawed hand through it, but when he pressed his hand to where the wound should have been, he felt no blood even around the residual pain. Over the sound of rushing blood in his ears and his own breathing, he could barely hear a familiar voice calling to him in the back of his mind.
 
Toushirou! Get a hold of yourself! Call on me; I can guide you through the dark if you'd just let me. Listen to me-”
 
The dragon speaks a lie. This voice was much louder and much closer than Hyourinmaru's, and it sent a shudder down Hitsugaya's spine.
 
“Who are you?” Hitsugaya asked, his own voice sounding thin and weary in his ears.
 
Don't listen to it, Toushirou!”
 
It doesn't matter who I am; the question is what I am.
 
Sharp pain stabbed into his skull, and Hitsugaya clutched his head with his hands and groaned.
 
Toushirou!”
 
Stay back in your pen, lizard, the other voice snapped.
 
Hitsugaya felt something feathery-soft and alive - but too cold to be human - grasp at his arms, dragging him through the darkness. Hyourinmaru's warnings faded into the distance until Hitsugaya wasn't sure he could hear him anymore, but before he could protest that fact, the twin mirrors from before appeared once again. The one he had gone through the first time was now shattered, and from the mirrors' light he saw small shards of glass embedded into the skin of his right hand. He didn't even remember hitting the mirror with it. He also saw the hell behind the second mirror, and began to shrink away as hands from the nightmarish figures there reached for him.
 
This is your path.
 
“N-No!”
 
You don't have a choice, boy.
 
The more Hitsugaya struggled against the hands, the harder they grabbed onto his limbs and pulled, even to the point of pain. He didn't care; he knew that the second mirror was not a place he wanted to go. But the hands were too strong, and he was too exhausted and in pain to free himself from them - with a sharp tug, they pulled him in through the mirror, and Hitsugaya knew he was in hell.
 
--
.to be continued in part VIII.
--
 
Misc. Notes:
eboshi-na: adult name given upon genpuku/kakan
genpuku: (also, kakan) the Japanese coming-of-age ceremony for boys, usually between the ages of 12 and 16 in which the child becomes an adult with the receipt of adult clothing, adult hairstyle, and an adult name (eboshi-na)
kami: Japanese Shinto folk deities
Ryujin: dragon kami, also god of the sea and is believed to have been one of the ancestors of the imperial line
sword ban: the Haitoh edict of 1876 placed a ban on the carrying of swords in public by anyone except for military officers, police officers, and those in formal uniform
torii: traditional Japanese gates that are often found at the entrances to Shinto shrines (and sometimes Buddhist temples as well) that are said to keep the unclean out of the shrine and purify those who wish to come pray to the kami (or Buddha)
 
I have not forgotten the band in the Living World, or in Yamamoto's office. There will be a great deal of explanation within the next two chapters; please hang on tight and hold your questions on those for now!
 
--
 
Next update will not take five months, considering it's almost completely written. One more scene and some tweaking, and it's done.
 
Thank you so much to everyone who's left a review here; I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. :) And I know most people are off being excited about the new HP book, but if you do happen to stop by and read this, I'd greatly appreciate feedback!