Chapter 2: Butterfly Wings Arc: Against Every March Storm

Summary:

Tests, no matter what world you're in, are very stressful. Particularly when they decide the future of the world.

Notes:

Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMii9q4qz0E ("Finest Hour" by Extreme Music)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was perhaps the worst summer day of my life when Dad took us to the entrance exams. The humidity was so high I thought that the sweat trickling down my back might've been condensation, and even without that the heat made me feel like a baked potato, with my clothes as the skin. When a breeze occasionally stirred the air, sighs of bliss could be heard from even the most stoic nobles. Me, all I could focus on was that every time I inhaled I smelled salt.

Strangely, however, when we got to Shin'ou the Shinigami proctors weren't sweating at all. As I passed one, I swore I could feel a buzzing sensation around her, like a shell of reiatsu.

Note to self: learn how to cool off with Kidou, or whatever these people are using.

I thought I'd gotten a good idea of Shin'ou from the few episodes that had taken place there, but seeing it on my computer screen and actually being there were two wildly different experiences. The hall into which applicants piled alone was easily twice the size of my high school gym, looking rather like a college lecture hall. Its surrounding buildings were even bigger, multi-storied and surrounded—probably containing as well—by courtyards and practice areas. I couldn't see the dormitories from where we were, but they had to be there. A lot of the students around us looked like they didn't have any homes worth going back to, and those who did had trunks. Every piece of architecture I saw was more traditionally Japanese than my own clan's estate.

Considering who had founded Shin'ou, that wasn't surprising. Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni's brain, as one very memorable fanfic had put it, was so rusty that its gears probably couldn't turn in another direction anymore.

"Those of you who brought possessions, raise your hands. Proctors will come around and provide you with as many slips of paper as you require. Ink and brushes will also be provided. Write your legal name, district, and the hiragana for both on the tags," a rat-faced proctor announced. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a slight man.

"Sir?" A boy standing at the back of the crowd called. A thick drawl touched even that one word. Definitely high-district. As people turned to look at him, the boy flushed red. Shaggy black hair touched the shoulders of his ratty yukata, its original color long since faded. In calloused hands he carried a simple sack that bulged with what was probably everything he owned. "What if- what if we d-don't know how to, to write?"

I cringed internally. A painfully shy kid like that, no wonder he'd left his rough district for Shin'ou.

The rat-faced man's gaze was faintly disapproving. "Get one of your classmates to write them for you."

As proctors came around, I nudged Shinji in the side. "Shin, I'm going to go help that kid. Mark my stuff—real name, not one of your dumb nicknames." Before he could stop me, I turned and began to elbow my way through the applicants behind me. As I approached the boy, who apparently didn't have the nerve to ask anyone around him, some part of me wanted to turn back and worry about my own stuff. I needed to go over what I knew, right? I didn't have to help this kid. He'd find help somehow, wouldn't he? I shushed that part of me. There was no reason to be nervous about helping someone out.

"Um, you needed help with a tag?" I stammered when I reached him. The boy had taken a tag, a brush, and a wetted inkstone and was staring at it as if characters would magically appear on the paper.

He glanced up, mild terror crossing his features. "Um, yes? But I don't wanna make m'self a bother, really. I'm sure I'll remember how..." From the way the kid's upper teeth were chomping on his lower lip, I highly doubted that.

I frowned. There was nothing that irritated me more than people who blatantly didn't know something pretending like they did. My mental self was smirking. This sort of thing was my element, bluntness overpowering my shyness when faced with a new acquaintance. "No, you won't. Give me those." I snatched the writing implements and nodded towards the ground. "Sit down. It's way easier for me to write on the ground than on a wall."

He sat, if only out of confusion. I doubted that I could command a gerbil. I dropped down beside him, dipped the tip of the brush in the ink, and held it to the paper. "What's your name, short stuff?" Right up close to him I could see that I was at least three inches taller. Ha! Taller than someone, taller than someone, my thoughts sing-songed.

"Minoru," he said, dropping his head as if ashamed of the fact. "Yes, that's all of it."

"Minoru, gotcha. How d'ya want that written?" I deliberately dropped into Osaka-ben, trying to make him feel more comfortable. Familiar voices always helped me relax, after all.

"Written?" He said, round eyes making it clear that he'd never heard of alternate readings in his life. Right, make things basic.

"Dependin' on context—or just how they're used, some kanji only get certain pronunciations when they're names—kanji can be said different ways," I explained. "If ya choose certain pronunciations you can make puns with them, or slap 'em with readings from another language. There are two different ways to show sounds, depending on whether they're foreign or native. If'n ya want, I can write 'Minoru' just as 'mi-no-ru' in either of those systems. Or I can write whatever kanji ya want and assign 'Minoru' as the reading. Pick carefully," I warned. As a frequent victim of misreading, I was especially conscious of kanji-furigana relationships.

"What kanji usually go with my name?" Minoru asked, staring at the brush with a newfound respect.

"There are a couple that both read fer 'reality' or 'truth,'" I said. "My brother uses a similar kanji in his name. Um, let's see. Ya can sometimes write it as 'bountiful harvest,' but I'd recommend not. No offense, but I don't think ya want to encourage a reputation for bein' a country bumpkin. People here, half of 'em got their nebs so high in the sky ya could mistake 'em for the Soukyoku."

Minoru half-smiled. "I can't talk 'gainst that. How d'ya write yours?"

I grinned. "Hirako Nariko. Th' family name's written as 'flat child,' my personal name's 'hard-workin' child.' Ya could have it as 'humble child,' 'adjusted child,' 'high-climber child,' or my personal favorite, 'thunder child.'"

"Now what've ya done ta get Narin talkin' in Osaka-ben, brat?" My brother's drawl said. In unison Minoru and I looked up to see him standing there, ink on his fingers. "'Cause lemme tell ya, it's all I can do ta get her to use even a word that ain't Tokyo-ben, even if it's just us two."

"Minoru-san," I said before Shinji could insult him further, "meet my brother Shinji. His name's written as 'true child.'"

Minoru blinked rapidly. "You two are twins?"

In unison—not helping my case—we shook our heads. "Nah, Nari-nee's my older sister," Shinji answered. "Hurry up over here, you two. Don't wanna miss the exams, do ya?"

"Kanji?" I said immediately, glancing at Minoru.

"Truth," he replied after a second. "Whichever one's easier ta write. My district's Fugai, West 67th."

"Outside...the...earthwork," I murmured as I printed the kanji as neatly as I was able. There was something vaguely familiar about the word 'fugai,' but I couldn't remember what it was off the top of my head. "Thanks." I stood, handing him the tag. "If ya get the chance, Minoru-san, meet up with Shinji an' me after. We'll show ya the ropes."

"Th-thanks!" He called after us as Shinji and I returned to our own belongings.

"Why'd ya go an' do that, Nariko?" Shinji murmured. "Ya don't even know the kid and now ya want ta take on the obligation of teachin' him everythin' 'bout a world he ain't never seen before?"

"Stop laying it on so thick, moron," I murmured back. "People may not want to understand you, but they need to be able to."

"Answer me, Nariko," he muttered tersely.

"I wanted," I hissed, "to be nice. We grew up here, but he didn't. He'll get himself hurt if we don't teach him how to survive here. I don't care how long it takes or what fun of yours it messes up, we're doing this. We take on Shin'ou together, remember?"

He grumbled, but I knew Shinji wouldn't go back on his word. Tricky he might be, willing to bend the truth and outright lie, but Shinji kept his promises. "Fine. As soon as ya get tired of the Rukon pet, don't come cryin' ta me."

"Dick," I muttered just loud enough for him to hear me.

When everybody had attached tags to their belongings, the proctors came through the crowd again, stamping each person's hand with a number from 1 to 8. They made a point of avoiding giving siblings and same-district people the same number whenever possible. Depending on what number was printed on an applicant's hand, they would take a seat at a designated section.

I took my seat in section 4 numbly, legs moving on their own. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Did I study enough? What did I even study? What'll be on here? Please tell me this isn't the only part of the exam or I'll fail! I want to go to Miyako!

Two proctors for each section handed out the exam. A couple others went through the rows, quietly asking each person whether they could read. Those who couldn't were led away, but judging from how none of them looked as if their hopes and dreams had been crushed it was probably just an alternative exam they would be taking.

It was... surprisingly less intensive than I'd thought. Many of the questions were basic but important things, like naming the structure and function of the Central 46, the three methods of becoming a captain, describing how district numbers worked, and what the four Shinigami Arts were. My unique circumstances gave me the answers to some, but the years clouded others. Who really cared how many captains had to recommend you to achieve captaincy without a Bankai demonstration? Future captains did, I guess. A lot were logic questions, things like 'What do you do if someone swings their sword at you?' I wrote down that I would step away if able, or block with my own Zanpakutou if my reiryoku was strong enough. Those were to weed out the idiots who fancied themselves world-conquering heroes, or at least identify them. There were a few that I had to admire for the subtlety with which they questioned an applicant's morality. 'If you had an injured comrade and were under attack by Hollows, what would you do?' and 'How do you aim to change Soul Society?' I carefully put down 'carry them to safety' for the first and 'increase security in the Rukongai' for the second. No use outing myself as a relative radical this early on.

Some—my favorite because hey, I was a teenage girl—seemed more like personality quizzes than anything else. 'Do you prefer justice or the rules?', 'Describe your approach to problem-solving in a word,' and 'Are brains or brawn more important?' were all questions put to me. I didn't think too much about those—start thinking about who you were and you might never find out, after all.

When the sixty-minute time limit was up, we all were led out of the exam hall. I saw the back of Minoru's head through a gap in the crowd. Relief flooded me in a warm rush. They hadn't been expelled.

We were led into another building this time. The proctors divided us up into various hallways. Minoru and I were in the same hallway, but in the crush of people I couldn't get to him. Most of this portion of the test was waiting. I was lucky enough to be called early on.

A musclebound woman in a sleeveless shihakushou ushered me into a small room, closing both sliding doors behind me. I was uncomfortably reminded that I was completely alone, helpless and at this woman's mercy. Weakweakweakweak- Shut up, you stupid thoughts.

"Hirako Nariko?" She said, examining a scroll.

"Yes, Shinigami-san."

"These are just going to be some questions that we felt couldn't be answered properly on the written portion. If some of your answers on the written portion are called into question, I may call you back later to clarify," she said. "If you need to seek me out for any reason, I'm Mizushima Sayuri, a Shinigami of the Ninth."

"Yes, Mizushima-san."

"Any questions before we begin?" She asked.

You have no idea. "What are you doing to stay cool?" I asked, tilting my head. "I bumped into a proctor and there was this, this shell around her."

Mizushima blinked. "Ah, you noticed that? She must've had an ice affinity; the Academy usually arranges for outside guards who have an easier time cooling off. Unless your Zanpakutou is ice-type too, you'll have to use Kidou for that."

"But what are you doing?" I persisted. "It can't be efficient to maintain a full-body spell like that."

She shook her head. "It's not. Me, I prefer a fan. It's right- ah, shi-shoot. Shoot. I must've left it in the exam hall. Well, any questions about the exam?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Then let's begin. What are your ambitions following graduation?"

I barely had to consider my response. "I want to achieve a seated position in either the Third, Ninth, or Twelfth. And to do better than my brother, but that's not likely."

Mizushima smiled when I mentioned the Ninth. "If you really want to join a division where every captain since the beginning of time has been a complete and utter hardass, sure. If you want any sanity at all, look elsewhere." She glanced down at the scroll, brush flicking over the paper as she recorded my reply. "Next question: do you have any extraordinary skills?"

Now I did have to consider my reply. I had a sharp memory, but nothing exceptional. I was good at following routines, but that was normal. I could play two instruments that hadn't made their way here, read and write in a language no one spoke, and knew the future via a manga series aimed at teenage boys. "I can read very quickly and I remember written information well," I said at last.

"Good." She noted that. "Do you have training in manipulation of reiryoku, a Hakuda style other than the Academy style, onmitsu techniques, or any weapon?"

"No, Shifting Moon, cyphers and observation, basic tantoujutsu and some naginatajutsu," I answered. I'd much preferred the naginata to the tantou, the former having amazing range and the latter having too much potential for cutting one's own hand open.

The rest of the questioning went in much the same way. Unlike the written portion, which had been broader, questioning how well you'd do as a Shinigami, this part focused on your aptitude for various Academy courses. Beneath the low table we sat at, I had my fingers crossed that they wouldn't stick me in the Kidou Corps or Onmitsukidou tracks.

At the end, I expected her to send me on my merry way, to my dorm room or some other place like that. Instead, Mizushima produced a glassy sphere, bluish-white in color and about the size of my head. The sphere was vaguely familiar, though considering my circumstances a lot of things were vaguely familiar. She held it out to me. I had the idea that somebody else had done that a while back—forward? A person who had had coarse black hair, a foul temper, and a fondness for explosives-

Shiba Kuukaku. She'd used this thing to get Ichigo and company into Seireitei. Well great. I had to wonder if it was a Shiba invention or if she'd just ripped the Academy tech off and named it after herself. Because seriously, reishuukaku? Yeah, that was real subtle.

I took the globe gingerly, almost afraid that it would burn me. It didn't, but the sphere did have an odd feeling, not like glass as I'd expected, but more like the 'riverbank' stones of a Zen garden by my family's home, smooth, cool, and soothing. Unlike Kuukaku's globe, this one had the kanji for 'Shin'ou' written in black on it.

"You'll find it easier to do this exercise if you press as much skin as possible to its surface," Mizushima advised. "When you've got it as you want it, close your eyes and try to tune out everything but my voice."

I did as she said, trying to make my wrists touch the globe as well. Urahara had put a seal on Aizen to bind his wrists because Shinigami had vents for spirit pressure there, right? Something like that, anyway. I shut my eyes tightly. There's nothing around you, I told myself. No floor beneath, no roof above, no Mizushima. Just...a voice.

"Look inside yourself, to your heart, where your reiryoku comes from," the voice said.

I'd tried to look inwards many times in my life Before, trying to meditate. I hadn't seen anything except what I imagined for purposes of calming myself down. Now, when I tried that again...

Beautiful, was my first thought. A ball of blue-green lightning crackled and fizzed in my core. It wasn't exactly lightning, though—currents like water moved within, in time to my heartbeat, while the light it exuded was like a fiery sun. No wonder I hadn't realized I had this power before. It was so natural, so much a part of me. How did Ichigo and the others resist the temptation to just stare at this power all day? Awed, I began to reach for it, when the voice stopped me.

"Reiryoku is stored within you," it said. "It is potential. Reiatsu is the power in use. Now separately, draw a circle in your mind. Make it as dark and heavy as possible. Funnel as much reiryoku as you can into the circle, until you feel faint."

I drew the circle, made it black and deep like a person's pupils. Then, eagerly, I reached for the lightning, not with some imaginary hand, or by picturing it moving, or anything like that. It was closer to breath control than anything else. An ex-trumpet player, I knew breath control better than I knew Bleach. It was almost easy. The lightning crackled through my veins, down my hands and into the globe. I guided more and more of it along, losing a little along the way but reaching a point eventually where I knew that releasing any more would make my head spin.

"O-open your e-eyes, Hirako-san," the voice croaked. Holding the images of the lightning and circle in my mind, I obediently opened my eyes to find that Mizushima was using the table to support herself, skin pale beneath her tan and visibly sweaty. The room looked weird, like I was seeing it underwater. I blinked to clear my eyes a few times before realizing that the tint the room had taken on was the same color as the lightning. Awesome.

Then something disturbed the strength I could feel pushing out from me. A calm yet insistent presence pushed out against mine, elegant and giving the oddest impression of slow-moving water. A dark olive light hummed into existence around Mizushima, taking on a shape that looked like some kind of heron, which flared its wings out.

"G-good," Mizushima gasped. "Now pull, hah, pull your power back."

I dismissed the image of the circle, being more careful to draw back my power as if taking a deep breath. The world felt oddly lonely when I stopped. I'd had a vague idea of small spirit signatures outside in the corridor and a somewhat larger one in front of me, various 'impressions' radiating from each one. As my power pulled away, so did my sense of the world and my connection to it.

The heron around Mizushima dissipated. As she printed something on the scroll with a shaking hand, the Shinigami took deep breaths. "Class Three, hmm," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking, then remembered that she was only an unseated officer, or else she would've specified her rank. It wouldn't take much to cause that sort of effect for her; even my reiryoku levels could do it.

"Just a, hah, a categorization," she explained. "It helps us with placement." Mizushima carefully sealed up the scroll, then rose, smiling at me. "All done, Hirako-san. You can go wait with your brother."

"Thank you very much, Mizushima-san," I told her, smiling back and fumbling with the sliding doors before I got them open.

When I stepped out into the corridor, the stares of my future classmates greeted me. A nervous smile flickered onto my face. Knew it, you screwed up, you screwed up, my thoughts taunted. Some day I'd really like to not think of the worst-case scenario first, really I would. The far more likely case was that they were curious about what exactly this portion of the same constituted. A couple weren't apparently, as they'd fallen asleep.

"Ukitake Junko!" Mizushima bellowed. I nearly jumped a foot in the air, scurrying out of the way and casting a glance around for Shinji. He was waiting down the hall, slouched against the wall.

"Bored?" I asked by way of greeting when I reached him.

"No shit," my brother replied, faking a wide yawn. "Your display a minute ago was a nice break, though."

"Huh?" I tilted my head at him.

"Jeez, you're the smartest numbskull I know, Nari-nee," he scoffed. "They don't use sekkiseki here, so of course ya can feel people's reiatsu from those rooms. Betcha ya made a good impression on somma the people hangin' 'round here." Shinji smirked.

"Moron!" I smacked him upside the head. "Don't go teasing me. Let's have an agreement that we're always honest with each other from now on, okay?"

"Sure," Shinji said. "I ain't takin' that back, though. Ya ain't common, Nari-nee."

I jabbed him in the ribs. "Snake in the grass," I snapped. "See if I don't tell you that you're barely above unseated when it's your turn."

He stuck out his tongue at me, but said nothing. We waited until he was called in silence.

Finally someone a couple rooms down was ushered out and the proctor called out, "Hirako Shinji!" My brother flashed a thumbs-up and grin—apparently a timeless gesture in the Bleachverse—and sauntered away.

I was tense the whole time, waiting for the explosion of spirit power I knew he'd produce. But somehow I still wasn't ready when it finally came.

I was just about to go look for a bathroom when the sun hit me full in the eyes. Not literally, but that was how it felt as my whole body froze. Golden spirit power slammed down on me, hot and bright and skin-baking like the summer day that waited outside. Sweat began to pour down my face immediately.

"Dark circle, dark circle, dark circle," I muttered to myself as I scrambled to remember what I'd done with Mizushima. I managed to push out my reiryoku again, exuding it in a field of shaky turquoise. Some of the people around me, shaking and gasping for breath, began to calm a little as I did that. It didn't feel the same this time, less effortless, like doing pushups after I'd already warmed-up.

The sun-energy cut off after a couple seconds. Shinji's proctor must've yelled for him to stop. I made a note to thank whoever the poor guy was.

Or not. The sliding doors slid open and Shinji poked his head out, supporting an unconscious proctor. "Oi! This guy passed out! Somebody make him wake up!"

Another proctor dashed over, holding his hand to the man's head to check for fever and then shaking his head. "It's the effect of your reiatsu," I heard him say distantly. "You must have some good potential." The words sounded casual, but it didn't take a genius to realize that Shinji was damn strong. I'd already known that, but knowing it and experiencing it were two entirely different things. "I'll just mark up the scroll for you then. We'll switch him out, don't worry."

"Wasn't worryin'," Shinji replied, but he made his way back to me nonetheless. From the way his narrow eyes flicked around, I could tell that he noticed the people who scrambled out of his way.

"So how was that, Nari-nee?" Shinji asked. His tone wasn't quite as loud as it would've been if he'd really just been asking. What Shinji really wanted to know were my thoughts on it.

"You're a lot stronger than I am," I answered equally quietly. "Not developed, but... I think if you work hard you could get a seated position."

Shinji grunted in agreement, eyes slits as the cogs of his mind processed this. "Then let's go take a walk around Shin'ou. I'm gettin' real antsy."

Parents weren't allowed on campus, except during certain visiting days. Students, similarly, weren't allowed off campus without written permission from at least three teachers or accompaniment by a Shinigami or teacher. Since technically Shinji and I weren't students yet, we could meet our parents off-campus.

"Shinji! Nariko!" Makoto shrilled as soon as she caught sight of us. "How was it? Did they give ya a checkup? I should've packed food! Nariko, didya keep your brother out of mischief like I done told ya? Shinji, didya keep an eye out for her?"

"Maa, love, I'm sure the proctors kept order," Kenji drawled. "Did the both of ya make us proud?"

"There wasn't a physical, Mom," I answered. "If there was we'd both have been disqualified, legendary Hirako physique and all. Not fair to others."

We all laughed at that. Very few people in the clan were curvy, muscular, or stout—as a rule, the Hirako ran towards being lean at best and scrawny at worst. In our early years Shinji and I had used that build to pass ourselves off as each other to our more distant relatives and visitors to the estate.

"It went fine, I guess." Shinji shrugged. "My proctor at the second part passed out, though."

"Shinji forgot how to hold back and overwhelmed the poor guy with his reiatsu," I added, not particularly eager to share my comparatively average results. They'd end up congratulating me but it was obvious Shinji would still be the shining star. Someday I'd get praise above him and I would earn it.

Mom squealed. "How amazing! I can't wait to tell your uncle Yuji; you know how much Yuuma-kun loves hearin' 'bout Shin'ou." Yuuma was our cousin, fourth in line for leadership of the clan. It had surprised me that Hirako leadership passed only along the line of descent—Dad was the current leader, succeeded by his brother Yuji if he died, but even then Mom would keep her position as head of the household. Shinji was the real heir in all but law, custom dictating that Yuji turn down the offer. I would come after Shinji, as a woman of the current main family. If both of us weren't suitable, Yuuma would inherit.

Oh, damn. I hadn't considered that with Shinji and I both...that without Shinji and I the inheritance would fall to Yuuma. He wouldn't be ready, not in the same way Shinji was. Note to self: train Yuuma. And rope Shinji into it too.

"When do they usually finish grading?" I asked, arms folded loosely across my chest. "We could all get something to eat."

Kenji hummed, shifting from foot to foot. "Hmm, tomorrow morning? They were done near midnight some year way back, but that was a real small class. This year's incoming bunch is big, so I reckon by noon if ya allow for the usual debate."

"Debate?" Shinji asked, my own question right on the heels of his. "They debate?"

"Mhmm," Kenji said, beginning to lead us away from Shin'ou's gates. "Some of the questions are pretty black-and-white, but others are a whole rainbow. So officials argue about them, and about how many errors they can overlook in an applicant. Get denied and your stuff'll be out on the street. Get accepted and they'll hand ya a slip with room number and course list."

The district around Shin'ou was best described by one word: gorgeous. Red-stemmed maples and bronze-leaved cherry blossom trees shaded the walkways. The former would be beautiful come fall, the latter absolutely stunning when spring rolled around. Every house we passed crouched on wooden supports, curving tiled roofs glinting in the sun. Sidewalks were nonexistent on the narrow roads, so bumping shoulders seemed to be an accepted part of city life. I hid a scowl upon realizing that. We didn't live in the sticks by any means, but crowds had driven me half-mad throughout my life. Happy place, happy place, I consoled myself.

"Where're we goin'?" Shinji asked. "Don't ya wanna get somethin' ta nibble on? I know there's a pit in my stomach." My own stomach twisted at that, the same way it did whenever he said something that reminded me in the slightest of his future Hollowfication.

"To the ryokan Makoto and I got a room at," Dad answered. "It'd take too long for us to head back home, so it's best that we bunk here until we get the results."

The ryokan in question was a perfectly traditional place, switch-to-slippers-at-the-door and a garden around the baths inside. A maid showed us to our room with several bows and a request to ask for anything we needed.

Our room was surprisingly cozy, a low table with a few zabuton pillows surrounding it in the center. As we filed in, slippers rasping on the tatami mat floor, Kenji turned to Shinji and me.

"Get on your yukata and we can go wash up before grabbing a bite," he advised. "If no one's too hungry...?"

Shinji and I shook our heads, despite Shinji's complaining not too long ago. Onsen were not to be missed. Mom and Dad changed in a separate room, if you could call a space formed by translucent rice-paper screens a room, talking in low whispers that neither of us cared to eavesdrop on. Shinji and I took a room together.

"Why didn't ya mention how good your results were?" He said quietly as he helped me tie my obi. "There. Now you can get mine."

I obliged, tying a sloppy bow and adjusting it so that it flopped at his right hip. Shinji huffed, undoing the knot and tying a better bow himself. "Why? So they can try to make me feel good when it's clear that you've already done better? For a guy who's usually so good with promises, you aren't doing so well with the one we made, Shin. I'm nothing special, not like you."

I doubled over as a sudden pain bloomed in my stomach. Straightening, I realized that it didn't really hurt that bad. Shinji'd just poked me in the stomach. "What the heck, moron?" I demanded.

"Stop sayin' that, Nariko," he said, every line of his body reading as serious. "Not callin' me a moron," he added so I couldn't pretend to get stuck on that and change the subject. "I mean stop sayin' that ya ain't anythin' special. Everybody in our hall felt your reiatsu, felt your proctor havin' to protect herself from it. Even if ya could barely use a reitama, ya could probably run rings around half the Kuchiki and Shiba and Shihouin there when it comes to book learnin'."

"And what does book learning have to do with being a Shinigami?" I snapped. "We aren't high nobles, Shinji. You're a prodigy; I'm not, so I get normal reiryoku, just good enough to enter, but it's obvious I'm not going the places you're going. Stop trying to make me feel better. I'm not stupid. Sure, I'll get in, but once I'm out it'll be the First, Third, or Fourth for me. Paperwork, art, or the shit nobody else wants to do." If I'd been back in my own skin, I would've clapped my hands over my mouth. My mental mouth was pretty foul, but I didn't like the feeling of being dirty and crude that came with the loss of my filter. Get control, you idiot, I berated myself.

Shinji stepped forwards so fast that I didn't have time to take a matching step back. "Stop. Sayin'. That," he hissed, breath warm on my face. "That ain't the Nari-nee I know. My sister acknowledges when she's good at somethin'. She doesn't just shut up because some stupid test and a bunch of high nobles make her all nervous." His voice dropped low and harsh. "I dunno if it's somethin' Dad said to ya when ya asked about goin' to Shin'ou, or pressure, or just from realizin' that ya ain't at home anymore an' we're gonna have to contend with a bunch of prissy-ass princesses and princelings. Maybe ya ain't gonna be a captain, but there's no way in hell that you'll be anythin' below Fourth Seat."

"Shut your damn mouth," I hissed back. Didn't he get that anything that wasn't a captain was helpless? That I was no Ikkaku or Yumichika to hold Third or Fifth and still be able to contend with Espada? I'd hoped that I'd be stronger, out of desperate fear for the future. If I wasn't strong enough I couldn't replace Hiyori and she'd be hurt and Shinji'd be hurt and I'd be left behind unimportant and alone and I couldn't let that happen didn't he see? "Maybe you've got the most in this family, but you are not the authority on reiryoku here."

"And you are?" He replied.

"No. I just trust our father to tell me the truth about my own power!" I growled. "Let's go to the onsen." I tried to shove past him, but Shinji planted himself in my path.

"How the hell would he know?" Shinji snapped. "How would anyone know, when ya keep everythin' in close and skulk around like you're tryin' to not be a bother, doin' your own thing? Only reason I can sense ya clearly right now is 'cause you're pissed at me."

I stared at him for a long second, scouring his face for any sign that he was teasing, for even a hint of pity. There was none.

"S-Shinji," I stammered, rage draining from me. "If I ever find out that you just lied to me, I will cut out each of your ribs one by one. Then I'll cut off the tip of your nose, and your earlobes, and your lips and eyelids too. Then I'll peel off your skin bit by bit, coat you in salt, and draw and quarter you."

Shinji smirked, and breathing that I hadn't even realized had become difficult became easier. Accidentally employing his reiryoku? I wondered. And then I did the same thing...huh. Powers here are even more personality-based than I thought. "Gee, that doesn't sound real pleasant. I'll try to keep ya convinced of my honesty, then," he drawled.

"Shinji? Nariko?" Mom said from beyond the sliding door. She sounded a little breathless. "Ya finished pickin' whatever bone's between ya two?"

We flushed in unison. I slid open the door, smiling sheepishly. "Did you catch all of that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Too busy tryin' to stop my ears from ringin' with all the reiatsu movin' 'round in there," she said dryly. "Don't worry, ya kept it down enough that the trace sekkiseki didn't get overloaded." Mom tapped a wall, which now that I looked at it did have a few white flecks embedded in the wood. Probably to keep the whole ryokan from feeling it when couples stayed the night.

The onsen was heaven when we finally made it in. Ignoring the bit where you had to strip with complete strangers around and shower before getting in, the hot water soothed away stress and muscle pains perfectly. I found myself nearly falling asleep, but Mom shook me awake before I could accidentally drown. That would have been a rather embarrassing way to meet my end before even getting my plans underway.

Finally, when we were all clean, Mom and Dad produced kimono for us to wear out for a bite. Shinji's was a burnt orange that I rather envied, a scene of swordsmen dueling at sunset adorning it. I noted absently that standards for men's clothing seemed to be less subdued than in real-life Japan—maybe because Shinigami were so common and wore dark clothing as a uniform? Mine was a salmon-colored number, a saffron-yellow design of wisteria catching the light nicely. We both wore sandy-brown half-width obi, although mine was tied in the butterfly knot and his was in a clam's mouth knot. Mom wore a dusty pink kimono with a simple design of cranes, while Dad wore a muted gold kimono. Even though none of our kimono were especially formal, I couldn't help but see that they all had at least one of our clan colors: pink, gold, and brown.

Wonder if it was Mom or Dad who wanted to advertise which clan we were from? I thought wryly as we stepped out onto the street, heading for the nearest food market. As evening drew closer, the scent of cooking food grew stronger and stronger on the breeze. Mmmm. Even Aizen couldn't make me hate food.

We settled on dining kawayuka-style, eating on a platform built over a small river. Obanzai ryori was the chosen meal tonight, a series of small, simple dishes. The woman owning the restaurant, clearly well into her cups judging from the blush on her face, waved away our money when we attempted to pay.

"It'sh on the house! Don't be stupid, heh! Think of it as encour-encour- reashon for you to vishit later!" She giggled. "I'll even throw in a bottle of sake!"

So it was that Shinji and I had our first taste of alcohol. It was nothing special, just a local sake that had been heated so we couldn't taste how bad it was. Shinji and I drank a small bowl each. The owner didn't notice when we left with the sake bottle, dumping it into the bushes when we were out of sight. Nobody needed to have that brew inflicted on them.

When we finally settled back into the ryokan, maids had put out our futons out while we were gone. After much lazing-around—who knew one could procrastinate going to bed?—we all slipped into yukata to sleep in.

Sleep was delicious.

Notes:

All the foods, practices in the ryokan, and other cultural details are as accurate as I could make them. The food Shinji and Nariko eat is traditional Kyoto food if I recall correctly. Japanese futons, interestingly, are not the same as Western futons. I believe that they do not fold into couches, for instance.

All the clan practices, however, are my own invention.