The warm, late-morning light filtered through the high windows of the dojo, painting long golden stripes across the polished wooden floor. The air carried a faint mix of sweat, fabric softener, and incense from earlier classes. The room was empty except for two figures standing at its center—one looking focused and amused, the other looking exhausted and frustrated.
Tatsuki cracked her neck with a sharp tilt. She wore a crisp white gi tied neatly with a black belt that had clearly seen years of use. Her hands were wrapped in white padded training gloves, faint smudges of sweat darkening the edges. Her breathing was steady, controlled, the posture of someone who had trained their whole life.
Opposite her stood Yato—also in a white gi, but his belt was the glaring opposite of hers: pure white, brand new, so clean it almost sparkled under the sunlight. His gloves were slightly crooked, as if he wasn't sure how tight they were supposed to be. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and his expression hovered between frustration and regret.
"When I asked you to teach me karate," Yato panted, adjusting his stance, "this is not what I thought you meant."
"Stop whining." Tatsuki's tone was flat but carried a flicker of amusement. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. "I've owed you a beating since we got back from the Soul Society—don't pretend you forgot that." Her eyes flashed with mischief. "And then you had the audacity to act all smug at the arcade? Please. This is me multitasking. I'm training you and getting my revenge. Everyone wins."
She pointed two fingers at him. "This is karma."
"That's not how karma works—"
He didn't get to finish.
Tatsuki moved with a sudden, fluid burst of speed—bare feet whispering across the tatami, her weight shifting effortlessly as she closed the distance. Yato stiffened, instincts firing one beat too late.
"Focus your center of gravity," Tatsuki said—not helpfully, not kindly— but like a warning he had no time to process.
Her right hand snapped forward, gripping the sleeve of his gi with precise force. Before he could even react, her left hand seized the back of his collar. Yato's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face.
"Oh no—no, no, wai—!"
Tatsuki exhaled, twisted her hips, and dropped her weight, executing a textbook-perfect o-goshi hip throw. For a split second Yato's world flipped entirely upside down.
Then—
THUD!
The impact echoed across the dojo like a thunderclap, a sharp reminder that Tatsuki had absolutely been serious about the "owing him a beating" part.
Yato lay sprawled on the tatami, limbs splayed in all directions as if he had become part of the floor. His chest rose and fell in short, wheezing breaths. He stared up at the exposed wooden ceiling beams—wide-eyed, slightly traumatized—as if the architecture itself had personally wronged him.
Tatsuki stood over him triumphantly, hands planted on her hips, tapping one foot on the mat. Her shadow stretched across his face like the silhouette of a strict instructor, though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
When she realized Yato wasn't getting up anytime soon—if only because his pride needed a minute—she sighed and walked off. Her steps were light, practiced, almost floating across the tatami as she made her way toward the far corner of the dojo.
Truthfully, when Tatsuki had dragged Yato here earlier, she had only intended to distract him for a while. Get him moving, get him sweating, maybe loosen whatever knot had been tightening in his chest since yesterday. She hadn't been planning on going full tournament-mode on him. She would've taken it slow, worked at his pace, let the training last as long as he needed.
But then—
He surprised her.
Midway through a simple drill, Yato had suddenly executed a clean harai-goshi—a sweeping hip throw smooth enough to make even a judo black belt raise an eyebrow. And he did it with such instinctive timing that Tatsuki nearly hit the floor herself.
Only nearly, of course.
That was the moment she realized something crucial: Yato, quiet and plain as he acted, apparently had a real interest in martial arts. More than that—he was competitive. Very competitive. He didn't brag, didn't smirk, didn't act tough… but he pushed himself. And from the way he'd performed that throw, he had either taken judo classes before or spent way too many hours studying fights on TV, breaking down techniques frame by frame.
That, unfortunately for him, awakened a sleeping dragon inside Tatsuki.
If he wanted to compete, she was happy—thrilled—to play along.
Still lying on the floor and lost in thoughts that were quickly spiraling from self-pity into full-blown existential questioning, Yato suddenly felt something cold press against his cheek.
He blinked upward.
Tatsuki was leaning over him, holding a chilled water bottle against his face. In her other hand, she drank from a second bottle with a long gulp, the cool water sliding down her throat as she wiped a bead of sweat from her jawline.
She sat down beside him with a soft exhale, legs folded neatly beneath her. And despite his bruised pride, his bruised back, and his bruised everything, Yato pushed himself upright. His expression was still faintly sulky but he took the bottle anyway. "Thanks."
Tatsuki gave him a sidelong glance, the kind that carried curiosity and hesitation. She wasn't great with emotional conversations. Her mind scrambled for a topic—something neutral, something she could keep going without making things awkward.
"So," she began, taking another sip of water while watching him from the corner of her eye, "when did you learn judo?"
Yato blinked, surprised she brought that up. "Oh. Uh… I took a few classes a few years back, but I didn't keep up with it." He lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, as if it wasn't important.
Tatsuki's brows rose, genuinely curious now. "And why'd you stop?" She assumed it had to be something serious—an injury, a schedule conflict, maybe he had to move.
Yato hesitated. His eyes drifted upward, finding comfort in the wooden beams he had become so acquainted with today. He took a breath, then answered casually, as if hoping the casual tone would hide the awkwardness of the truth.
"Well…" He scratched his cheek, embarrassed. "I grew. My gi got too small, and I didn't have money to buy a new one." He exhaled through his nose, resigned. "The place I trained was strict about uniforms, so… I couldn't show up without one. That was that."
He took another sip of water, avoiding her eyes for a moment. The reason sounded childish to him—thin, almost pathetic. But it was the truth. Simple, inconvenient, and frustrating.
Tatsuki froze mid-sip.
She didn't say anything at first, but her expression tightened—not with pity, but with a quiet, simmering irritation on his behalf. Not at him. At the situation. At the idea of a kid wanting to train and being shut out because he couldn't afford a piece of cloth.
She looked forward again, thoughtful, tapping her thumb against the bottle cap.
Based on his tone, she couldn't help wondering if Yato's family had struggled financially. But she hesitated. This was different from their usual banter—heavier, edging into territory she didn't know how to navigate.
Tatsuki knew he was an orphan. She'd learned that four months ago, on their first day at Karakura High. She didn't pry then, and she hadn't needed to—Yato never brought it up, and the group silently agreed not to poke at something that looked like it might hurt.
But the odd thing was…
Whenever the topic came up among friends—family dinners, annoying parents, childhood stories—Yato never reacted the way she expected. No shadow falling over his face, no sudden silence heavy with emotion. Instead, he would give vague, half-formed answers and immediately steer the conversation elsewhere. Not mournful. Not angry. Not even sad.
More like… confused.
As if the whole subject was a distant puzzle he couldn't quite make sense of.
Tatsuki glanced at him from the side, studying his posture. The way he held the bottle loosely. The neutral calm in his eyes. The way he spoke about the gi as if it were just an inconvenience from another life.
She was turning that over in her mind when Yato suddenly broke the silence.
"I was thinking…" he said, shifting his weight slightly. "You must be pretty close with the owner of this dojo, right? I mean—being able to use it whenever you want, no one else around…"
Tatsuki blinked, caught off guard—not because the question was strange, but because she instantly felt a wave of relief wash over her. A new topic. A lighter one. Something that didn't tread on emotional ground she wasn't sure he wanted her stepping on.
She let out a breath that turned into a soft, playful laugh.
"You mean close with my parents?" she teased, nudging his arm with her shoulder. "This dojo belongs to my family. It's literally attached to the back of our house. So yeah, I kind of get VIP access."
"Oh." Yato froze, then muttered the word again, quieter. "Oh…"
Realization hit him like a slow, creeping embarrassment. His shoulders stiffened, his eyes flicked away, and he took a long drink from his bottle—long enough that it looked like he was trying to drown the sudden shame.
The silence stretched between them—long enough for the hum of the ceiling lamp and the distant rustling of wind outside the dojo to become noticeable. Yato stared at the tatami in front of him, lost somewhere in thoughts she couldn't follow. Tatsuki shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't used to quiet like this.
Eventually, unable to bear the stillness any longer, she broke it.
"You're still upset about what happened to Senna, right?" Her voice was low—careful. She wasn't sure if she was stepping into territory she shouldn't.
Yato didn't flinch. Instead, he adjusted himself, resting his elbow on his knee and propping his chin against his left hand. His expression turned contemplative, but not in the ways she expected.
"No." He blinked slowly. "I don't know… not really."
"'Not really'?" Tatsuki repeated, brows lifting. "What kind of answer is that?"
But Yato's eyes weren't on her—they were somewhere far away, tracing invisible lines only he could see. Because the truth was something stranger than sadness.
He had acted. He had interfered. He had changed the fate that was supposed to erase Senna entirely, but he still didn't understand how Cheshire had accomplished it, or what price had been paid. Senna had vanished from sight, yes—but the red ribbon he had crafted for her was gone too. And yet… her emotional thread hadn't disappeared.
If he focused—even slightly—he could still sense it. Not severed. Not broken. Just… out of reach. A thread that connected not only to him, but to his friends. Senna hadn't ceased to exist.
She had simply gone somewhere he couldn't see.
"It's complicated," Yato said at last, his voice steady but distant.
Tatsuki exhaled through her nose, staring up at the ceiling beams as irritation slowly crept into her chest. She didn't know what bothered her more—the way he dodged the question, or the way he seemed so calm about something that should've torn him apart.
Because Yato wasn't the type who hid things from his friends. At least, not from her. In all the months they'd known each other, in all the strange situations they had been dragged into, he had never shut her out like this.
Which only made her annoyance sharper.
"I'm guessing Rukia knows more about it than I do, right?" Her tone shifted—subtle, but edged.
Yato didn't notice. Or didn't comment. "I think so," he answered simply.
That small confirmation tightened Tatsuki's jaw.
It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. But she suddenly understood a little too well how Orihime felt whenever Ichigo and Rukia shared some unspoken understanding, some quiet exchange that shut the rest of them out. There was something about that little shinigami—something that drew the truth out of people, made them trust her immediately, instinctively. Ichigo did it. And apparently Yato did too.
Even if Tatsuki and Orihime had known Ichigo and Yato longer.
Rukia wasn't a bad person—in fact, she was one of the only shinigami Tatsuki trusted without hesitation. She respected her. Liked her.
But that didn't stop a small, sharp insecurity from curling into her chest.
Because sometimes it felt like Rukia could reach places Tatsuki couldn't. Places she didn't even know how to step into. Parts of people she cared about—parts she wanted to understand.
She drew her knees closer, tightening the grip on her water bottle.The dojo suddenly felt too big, too quiet, too filled with things left unsaid.
She shouldn't have said anything.
But she did.
"You really like her, don't you?" Her tone tried—tried—to sound playful. Light. Teasing.
But she heard it the moment the words left her mouth: the frustration, the insecurity, the faint strain beneath the joking surface. And instantly, she regretted it.
Why had she said that?
It wasn't as if the answer wasn't obvious.
Yato let Rukia live in his house. He built an entire cover story about them being engaged to help her blend in. He protected her when she was powerless. He tricked a powerfull shinigami to keep him from taking something sealed inside her. And the two of them shared a bond—that strange, inexplicable connection—that Tatsuki had never seen even between siblings or childhood friends.
If that wasn't liking someone, Tatsuki didn't know what was.
She braced herself for a flustered reaction, or a hasty denial, or maybe even embarrassment.
But instead of answering, Yato went quiet.
Not awkward quiet. Not embarrassed quiet.
Contemplative.
As if he had to actually think about it.
He leaned back slightly, gaze lowering to the tatami between them, thumb absentmindedly brushing condensation off his bottle. He didn't notice the subtle shift in her voice. He didn't notice the faint tension in her shoulders. His mind had drifted somewhere else entirely.
Because the truth was…
He didn't know the answer.
His Fullbring had linked his soul with Rukia's—an intimate connection that let them sense each other's emotions, understand each other wordlessly, sometimes even instinctively. But despite that closeness, Yato had never felt any major shift in his feelings toward her.
He liked her. He respected her. He admired her courage, her stubbornness, her loyalty.
He had liked her as a character before arriving in this world, and he liked her as a person now that he was part of it.
But the first and only time he had seen the emotional thread that connected them—a golden-yellow string glowing vividly between their souls—it hadn't spoken of romance or longing.
Yellow.
Bright yellow.
The color of deep, unwavering friendship.
And nothing more.
At least… not yet.
Yato breathed out slowly, still staring at the floor.
Tatsuki waited, heart thudding harder than she wanted to admit.
The silence stretched.
Yato finally exhaled—a slow, almost reluctant breath—before lifting his gaze to meet hers.
"I… don't know exactly," he admitted.
No hesitation. No defensiveness. Just honesty.
"I think of Rukia as a friend." He shifted slightly, rolling the cool water bottle between his palms. "A close friend, sure… someone I trust. Someone who trusts me. But that's it." He paused, choosing his words with more care than usual. "I don't really get this stuff. Feelings. Labels. I'm still figuring things out."
As soon as the words left him, a quiet stillness settled inside his chest.
For the first time, Yato realized something unsettling. Or rather, he remembered something unsettling."
He had always believed he fully understood how his Fullbring worked.
When Cheshire had bound his soul to Rukia's, he had assumed that meant something grand—something destined. Soulmates. A fated connection. A forced evolution of emotion. That their feelings would deepen whether they wanted them to or not.
But nothing had changed.
His affection for Rukia was still what it had always been—warm, protective, sincere… but unchanged. No sudden romantic pull. No overwhelming surge of longing. No inevitable transformation of what they were.
And that confused him.
A soft, amused chuckle echoed in his mind.
'Heh…'
Cheshire's presence coiled lazily through his thoughts, its laughter carrying a knowing, almost teasing lilt—as if it were thoroughly entertained by the disorder inside Yato's head.
Only then did Yato begin to notice the pattern.
So many of the "destiny" caused by Cheshire weren't random at all. They were his.
Reflections of his desires. His frustrations. His unspoken wishes.
He had never thought it was fair that Tatsuki had no powers. And then somehow, impossibly, that 'destiny' was rewritten. She became a Fullbringer.
He had never understood why Nemu remained so devoted to Mayuri despite the way she was treated—as a tool, as an experiment, as something disposable. And then her destiny shifted too. She gained more autonomy. Choice. The right to decide who she truly wanted to become. Enough to awaken her own zanpakutō.
Each time, Cheshire intervened.
But never with a complete answer.
Only with change—and the burden of learning what to do with it.
Yato exhaled slowly. 'So… what about Rukia?'
Cheshire had linked their souls the moment she was taken to Soul Society.
And yet… Yato hadn't changed.
He didn't love her differently. Didn't ache for her. Didn't feel transformed.
He had always loved Rukia as a character. As a person. As someone important and perhaps because he liked Rukia so much—just like 90% of the character's fans—he wanted to be with her.
So Cheshire hadn't given him a destiny. It had only given him a bridge.
Meanwhile, Tatsuki blinked, taken off guard by how genuine he sounded.
No dramatic speeches.
No awkwardness.
Just… sincerity.
For a moment, she didn't quite know how to react. A warmth she hadn't anticipated loosened something tight inside her chest—subtle, unfamiliar, but strangely comforting. She lowered her gaze to her water bottle as if suddenly fascinated by the condensation sliding down its surface, yet she couldn't quite suppress the small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Well…" she said at last, pushing herself up to her feet with a soft grunt, rolling her shoulders as if the weight of the conversation had melted away. She felt oddly lighter now. "Break's over. Back to training."
She flashed him a grin—half challenge, half reassurance.
Yato looked up at her with an expression that was clearly manufactured disappointment. "Come on… at least five more minutes. I'm still emotionally recovering from being thrown around..."
"Not happening," Tatsuki shot back, already turning and walking toward the center of the dojo with confident, almost lazy strides.
Yato let out a long, drawn-out sigh of defeat and slowly stood up. He stretched his arms over his head, his back giving a soft crack, then shook out his legs before trudging after her.
"This time," Tatsuki said as she planted her feet and shifted into a proper karate stance, her posture sharp and grounded, "we're raising the difficulty."
A confident smile curved across her face as she activated her Fullbring.
<< Hibana Seiryū. >> • 火花青龍, Azure Dragon's Spark •
The air around her shifted.
Her eyes flared into a luminous gold, pupils narrowing into sleek vertical slits. Shimmering blue scales rippled into existence along her forearms, catching the light like living glass. Power pressed outward from her in subtle waves, controlled but unmistakably present.
"I need to train seriously if I don't want to lose control again," she continued, voice steady but intense. "So we're taking advantage of this. I also noticed something else—" she tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on his, sharp and observant. "You barely use your real power."
Yato raised an eyebrow. "I use my power plenty. zanpakutō, Shinigami stuff, all that."
"I'm not talking about your Shinigami powers," she said flatly. "I mean your red threads. Since you awakened your zanpakutō, you've barely touched the powers that were with you from the start."
The words hit closer than Yato expected.
She was talking about his Fullbring.
<< Red Threads of Fate. >>
Cheshire's power.
And once again—annoyingly, painfully—she was right.
Yato had been avoiding it. Relying on it only as support. Treating it like a backup instead of something equal to his Shinigami abilities.
A familiar voice echoed inside his mind, dripping with smug amusement.
'And it took someone else to point that out for you to finally notice~'
Yato exhaled quietly. 'Yeah… sorry.'
He lifted his hands, focusing. His ring turning into crimson threads, bursting into existence around his arms, wrapping around his wrists and knuckles like living cords of light. They pulsed faintly, reacting to his resolve.
"You're right… I really do need to change that..."
———————————————————
Soul Society, Seireitei - Shinigami Women's Association
The meeting room of the Shinigami Women's Association bustled with life and noise.
Colorful banners hung crookedly from the walls, left over from a previous, overly enthusiastic decoration attempt. A long table occupied the center of the room, cluttered with teacups, plates of snacks, some paperwork, several empty bottles thanks to Matsumoto, and two suspicious-looking handmade crafts thanks to Yachiru.
Matsumoto laughed loudly at something Unohana had said—something utterly harmless that Matsumoto was determined to interpret in the least innocent way possible.
Isane politely scolded Yachiru for trying to use Nanao's glasses as a makeshift magnifier.
Nemu stared blankly at a cookie she was unsure she was supposed to eat or analyze.
Momo and Kiyone chatted about new duty rotations.
And at the far end of the table—
Rukia sat quietly, chin resting on her hand, her violet eyes unfocused.
Usually, Rukia chimed in with opinions or at least mild protests whenever the Association made one of their more questionable plans. But today… she was still. Too still.
Her violet eyes remained unfocused, drifting from the window to the table to nothing at all. She stirred her tea without drinking it. She nodded at comments she didn't hear. She looked every bit like someone physically present but mentally miles away.
She barely heard Nanao lecturing Matsumoto about misfiled expense reports.
She hadn't even reacted when Yachiru suggested a "Find-the-Captain's-Hairpin Treasure Hunt," which normally would've earned at least an exasperated sigh.
Kiyone eventually noticed.
She leaned toward her with a bright smile. "Rukia-chan! What do you think of the new—"
But the sentence died when Rukia blinked and slightly jerked as if waking from a dream.
"Hm? Ah—sorry." She sat straighter, forcing a tiny smile. "What were we talking about?"
"You tell us," Kiyone laughed lightly. "You spaced out for a while. Something on your mind?"
Rukia hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
Something inside her had shifted.
Her bond with Yato had always been unusual—tied by his powers, sharing sensations and emotions like flickers of shared breath. But after the Valley of Screams, those flickers had become sharper. More defined. More felt.
And every time she thought about him, something warm spread subtly through her chest. Something confusing.
"…Rukia?" The third-seat of the 13th Squad leaned forward, waving a hand right in front of Rukia's face. "Hellooooo? You spaced out again."
Rukia blinked, sitting straighter. "Ah—sorry. I was… thinking."
"Thinking?" Kiyone raised a brow, glancing knowingly toward Isane. "About what? You've been quiet since the meeting started. That's weird. You're usually the first to complain about the budget reports."
"I do not 'complain,'" Rukia retorted automatically, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.
"So?" Kiyone pressed, leaning her chin on her hands. "What's on your mind?"
Rukia hesitated again. The room's noise blurred into a distant hum. She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening slightly in her lap.
What was on her mind?
Yato breaking down for someone whose existence was fragile.Yato quietly trying to carry burdens that he didn't fully understand himself.
Feelings she did not have a name for stirred like ripples under still water.
"…It's nothing," she said finally, though her voice wavered almost imperceptibly. "I've just… been really distracted lately."
"Distracted?" Matsumoto raised a brow, smirking. "Oooh~ Do tell. Something interesting on your mind? Or someone?"
Rukia stiffened almost imperceptibly. A beat too long. A silence too telling.
Because she did know what was occupying her thoughts.
Ever since the events with Senna—ever since that day when Yato's words cut through the fog of grief and confusion—something inside her hadn't settled.
"A person doesn't really die until they're forgotten."
When Yato had spoken those words about the "heart," about how people only truly vanish when they're forgotten… it struck the same chord Kaien Shiba once had.
But that wasn't the entire reason her chest tightened whenever she thought of Yato.
No, what unsettled her more was—
'He doesn't hide anything.'
Yato laughed loudly when something amused him.
He pouted shamelessly when things annoyed him.
He grew angry in a heartbeat, but that anger never felt cruel—just honest.
And when he was sad…
Rukia swallowed hard.
When he was sad, he didn't mask it behind stoicism, didn't bury it under duty or discipline or centuries of practiced restraint. He simply was sad. He felt it. He cried and he allowed others to see it.
'He let me see it.'
And that—more than Kaien's memory—was what had begun to shake her.
She had spent so long repressing her own emotions out of necessity. Out of loyalty to her family. Out of duty to the Gotei 13. Out of the sheer survival instinct required of a noble shinigami who had never truly belonged anywhere until much later in life.
There had never been space for emotional honesty.
She had been taught to maintain dignity. To maintain composure. To endure silently.
Yato wore his heart like something unbreakable.
As though emotions were not a liability, but a strength.
As though the soul didn't need walls to remain intact.
Rukia's lips twitched, but only faintly. She kept her eyes lowered.
Standing with Yato in the aftermath of Senna's disappearance, listening to him speak those words, Rukia had felt a painful, familiar weight in her chest.
Not because it hurt—
But because it warmed something she thought had long gone cold.
She lifted the teacup, staring at the ripples in the surface, her reflection trembling in the pale liquid.
Her feelings toward Yato…They had changed. She knew that much.
Now there was something else. A subtle pull. A warmth that lingered even when she tried to dismiss it.
And she had tried.
Because she wanted to believe that this shift was simply a side effect of staying too long in the human world. A result of emotions muddling together.
It would have been easier if that were true.
That was the real reason she returned to Soul Society so quickly after the battle in the Valley of Screams. Not just duty, not just obligation.
"Rukiaaaa…" Kiyone pressed gently, waving a hand in front of her face. "You're spacing out again."
Rukia's lips parted slightly, but no answer came.
Because she didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain something she barely understood herself.
And so she simply lowered her gaze, eyelashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks, and murmured the safest thing she could manage "…It's nothing. Truly."
But the quiet flutter inside her chest told her otherwise.
"Isane."
Unohana's voice drifted gently into the lively chatter of the Shinigami Women's Association, soft yet effortlessly commanding.
"How are the preparations?" she asked, her tone as serene as always, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Isane straightened instinctively. "I've already completed all the required paperwork and submitted the notice regarding our stay." she reported. "I also requested that a set of gigai be prepared in advance, should we need them."
She paused, then asked, "At what time will we be departing, Captain?"
That caught Kiyone's attention instantly.
She leaned forward, eyes widening with curiosity.
"Departing? Departing where, sis?" she asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
Isane turned to her. "Captain Unohana and I will be heading to the world of the living to… verify a few things."
"Heeeh? You're going there?" Rangiku slumped dramatically in her chair. "Ugh, that's so unfair! I wanted an excuse to go too…"
Unohana, unbothered, took a gentle sip of her tea before replying, "Actually, Isane, I will need to remain here for several more hours. Because of that, I was going to suggest that someone accompany you until I'm free to join."
She let her eyes sweep the table, finally resting on two specific individuals.
"I was considering Lieutenant Kurotsuchi and Kuchiki-san."
Nemu lifted her head ever so slightly. Her expression remained placid, but her eyes flickered with a faint spark—interest, maybe even anticipation. She gave a polite, silent nod, signaling her agreement without a word.
Rukia looked up as well, surprised but composed, her fingers still loosely wrapped around her teacup.
Isane blinked. "Did something happen, Captain?" she asked carefully.
Unohana smiled—gentle, warm, but carrying an undertone of something heavier.
"The Captain-Commander Yamamoto has summoned us for an important announcement."
Her eyes shifted gracefully to the woman sitting several seats away.
"Is that correct, Captain Soi Fon?"
Soi Fon offered a curt nod. "It means he succeeded," she said, her tone cool and serious.
Unohana's smile deepened, though still subtle. "Indeed. You had doubts?"
Soi Fon crossed her arms. "I was the one who recommended him. Naturally, I had no doubts."
Kiyone and Isane exchanged a glance.
Rukia blinked in confusion.
Even Nanao paused mid-note.
Rangiku's brows shot up, her interest piqued again.
"Wait—wait, wait." She leaned in, amber eyes gleaming. "What exactly are you talking about?"
Before Unohana could answer Matsumoto's question, Rukia gently cleared her throat.
"If I may…" she began, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. Her voice was polite, steady—carefully steady. "Captain Unohana, Lieutenant Kotetsu… I'm grateful for the consideration, but I'll have to decline."
Several heads turned toward her.
Nemu blinked once—practically a gasp by her standards.
"Oh?" Unohana tilted her head, her expression mild but perceptive.
Rukia gave a small bow of her head. "I have a few outstanding tasks in the 13th Squad that require my attention. Reports to finish, patrol shifts to reorganize, and Captain Ukitake asked me earlier to assist with a delivery to 4th Squad." She forced a light, apologetic smile. "It wouldn't be right to leave those duties waiting."
Kiyone immediately leaned toward her, waving a hand dismissively. "Ehhh? Rukiaaa, you don't need to worry about that! I can cover your workload for a day or two, no problem!" she said with a broad grin, her voice brimming with good intentions.
Rukia forced a smile—small, polite, but noticeably stiff. "That's kind of you, Kiyone," she said. "But I insist."
The insistence in her tone made Kiyone blink. She exchanged a quick, puzzled look with Isane, who shrugged gently.
Matsumoto squinted as if trying to decode a hidden message. Soi Fon raised an eyebrow, already suspecting there was more to this than simple paperwork.
But no one pressed further.
Externally, Rukia remained composed—hands folded neatly in her lap, expression serene, voice steady.
Internally?
Her thoughts were a storm she couldn't let show.
Because going to the world of the living right now meant being close to Yato again. And after everything that happened, her heart felt unsteady in ways she couldn't understand, much less control.
And the bond.
She could feel him. His shifts in emotion, his subtle fluctuations, the quiet honesty behind his thoughts. And he could feel hers.
If she stepped through the Senkaimon now—if she stood even within his range—those conflicted emotions swirling inside her would wash straight through that link like a wave.
She wouldn't be able to hide it. Not the confusion.Not the warmth she didn't ask for.Not the fear of what it meant.
Rukia lowered her eyes. 'No. Not right now.'
She needed distance. She needed clarity. She needed to understand herself before he could feel her unraveling.
Rukia exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the braided tassel decorating the edge of the tablecloth. Her thoughts spiraled deeper, more analytical.
'Maybe… this is simply a side effect of the bond.'
Yato's Fullbring had intertwined their souls—harmonizing spiritual wavelengths to share perception, emotion, and instinct. It was, by all definitions, an intimate connection. Deeper than she'd formed with anyone in the past century.
'Perhaps… perhaps what I'm feeling is not my own. Maybe I'm just experiencing a reflection of him. A bleed-through from his side of the bond.'
If that were true…
Then disconnecting the bond would make everything go back to normal.
The thought settled heavily in her chest.
And it made her stomach twist.
The idea of severing the bond—of losing the quiet thread of warmth she felt whenever Yato was nearby… the subtle hum of his presence somewhere in the distance… the instinctual awareness that he was alive, and moving, and there—
The idea of losing that made her chest ache in a way she didn't have words for.
She clenched her fingers slightly around her cup.
'Why does the thought bother me this much?'
She didn't want to feel this way. Didn't want to feel unsteady, uncertain, or vulnerable. Didn't want emotions she couldn't categorize or dismiss.
Especially emotions directed toward someone who, logically, should have only been a friend.
A peculiar, reckless, annoyingly earnest friend.
———————————————————
World of the Living - Gonzales Gym
Sado stood alone in the center of the training floor, his broad frame glistening with sweat under the overhead lights. After Coach Miguel and Sergeant Kensei Muguruma had left, Sado stayed behind, throwing steady, rhythmic punches into the heavy bag. His movements were calm, controlled, but each impact echoed with the quiet weight of someone replaying every second of his sparring session in his mind.
He intended to stay only a few more minutes—just enough time to evaluate his footwork, reconsider the angles of his defense, and reflect on the explosive power Kensei had shown earlier.
He drew his fist back for another blow—
—when the gym door creaked open.
Sado paused mid-motion and turned his head.
Ichigo Kurosaki stood in the doorway, framed in a rectangle of fading daylight. His orange hair caught the light like sparks, and his expression was a mix of mild annoyance and mild boredom—his default face, really. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a dark jacket, giving him the look of someone who had wandered in not because he wanted to be there, but because everywhere else was even less appealing.
"Man," Ichigo said as he stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him, "you're really taking this boxing thing seriously."
"Hm." Sado offered a small nod in greeting, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Did something happen?"
"No, nothing big," Ichigo replied with a shrug as he crossed the training floor. "My old man took Yuzu to some party, and Karin's out playing soccer with her friends." His voice sank into a grumble. "There wasn't much left for me to do."
Ichigo came around to the opposite side of the heavy bag, placing both hands on it to hold it steady for Sado.
It was an admirable gesture in theory.
In practice?
Sado drew back his fist and threw a straight punch—clean, heavy, and precise.
The bag lurched.Ichigo did not.
He let out a strangled noise as the impact nearly ripped the bag from his grip. He instinctively released it, stumbling half a step back. A single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face as he attempted—badly—to play it cool.
He cleared his throat, standing straighter.
"Y-Yeah. Sure. Just warming up," he muttered, pretending nothing embarrassing had just occurred.
Sado blinked at him with quiet sympathy and decided to call it a day. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow exhale as he pulled at the straps of his gloves.
The two teenagers sat side by side on the edge of the ring apron.
Sado rested his hands on his knees, still catching his breath.
Ichigo leaned back slightly, elbows braced behind him, legs stretched forward—trying to look relaxed, even though his arms still tingled from nearly being launched across the room by the heavy bag earlier.
"By the way, Ichigo," Sado said, breaking the quiet.
Ichigo turned his head, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"
"Have you ever heard of a Hollow called Shemihaza?"
Ichigo's face twisted into a confused frown. He squinted, as if the act alone might pull the memory from somewhere in the back of his mind.
"Shem…i—what? No. Never heard that name. Why?"
Sado exhaled and lifted his gaze toward the gym ceiling, watching the slow swirl of dust drifting through a shaft of sunlight.
"A few days ago, Inoue and I ran into a Hollow," he explained. "But… it wasn't hostile. It wasn't attacking anyone. It was just… watching an old woman."
Ichigo blinked. "Watching?"
"His wife," Sado clarified gently. "I think his name was Suzuki."
That made Ichigo stiffen.
For a moment, his mind flashed to Sora Inoue—Orihime's brother—who had lingered near her as a Hollow, but had eventually attacked after losing control. The idea of a Hollow calmly watching someone without malicious intent… it didn't sit neatly in Ichigo's worldview.
"What do you mean, 'not hostile'?" Ichigo asked, leaning forward.
"He just… hovered nearby. Sighed a lot. He didn't feel strong. Mostly afraid." Sado paused, recalling the trembling in Suzuki's voice. "He kept mentioning another Hollow. One named Shemihaza."
Ichigo frowned deeper.
"Apparently, Shemihaza is the one who forcibly turned him into a Hollow after he died in a car accident," Sado continued. "When Suzuki talked about it, he started to cry. Then he ran away."
Ichigo stared at Sado for a long beat—and a single comical bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"Hold on," Ichigo muttered, rubbing his forehead. "So this Shemihaza guy—do you think he's involved in something? Maybe tied to Aizen?"
"I don't know," Sado admitted. "But from the way Suzuki talked about it… Shemihaza promised him 'power.' Forced the transformation. It reminded me of those new Hollows we've been seeing lately—the ones with special abilities."
Ichigo let out a quiet "tch," jaw tightening as he mulled over the implications. He shot Sado a sideways look—the kind that hinted a question was forming long before he voiced it.
And Sado, being Sado, already knew what Ichigo was thinking.
"You and Yato were still dealing with the Valley of Screams," Sado said before Ichigo could speak. "I didn't want to bother you both with something else."
Ichigo clicked his tongue again, looking both annoyed and begrudgingly grateful at the same time.
Silence stretched between them for a moment. A comfortable silence—until Ichigo's brows furrowed with a different kind of thought.
"Hey, Chad."
"Hm?"
"Do you remember Senna? I mean… still remember her?"
Sado nodded once, as calm and steady as always. "Hm. You went into the Valley of Screams to save her."
"So you do remember…" Ichigo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What are you getting at, Ichigo?" Sado asked.
Ichigo hesitated, leaning back on his hands.
"Rukia told me—back then—that once Senna disappeared, everyone who met her would lose their memories. Like she'd be erased from existence."He ruffled his hair in frustration. "But that didn't happen. I still remember everything. And so do you."
"Maybe something changed the outcome?"
"Maybe…" Ichigo stood, dusting off his jeans. His expression had sharpened. "I'm gonna go talk to Urahara-san. Maybe he knows something about this Shemihaza guy… or what happened with Senna."
Sado rose from the ring as well, towering slightly over Ichigo.
"You go ahead," he said. "I'll catch up in a bit."
Ichigo nodded once—and with that familiar determined stride, he headed for the exit while Sado lingered a moment longer, thoughtful, quiet, and still analyzing everything.
***
Karakura Town — "Matsusaka Tajima"
Late afternoon settled over Karakura Town around 5 p.m., when the sky took on shades of gold melting into lavender. The streetlights had not yet flickered on, but the neon signs were already beginning to glow faintly, their colors reflected in shop windows and spreading warm hues across the sidewalks. Between a laundromat and a tiny record shop stood a cozy little restaurant, its wide windows fogged slightly at the edges from the heat inside. The sign above — MATSUSAKA TAJIMA — gleamed like a nostalgic memory of times gone by.
Inside, the atmosphere was a curious fusion of retro and modern. Deep red vinyl booths lined the walls, chrome finishes shone on the counters, and soft jazz lazily drifted from a speaker near the kitchen. The air was saturated with the smell of dough frying, freshly brewed coffee, and something sweet — perhaps cinnamon pancakes.
In one of the corner booths, a young man with straight-cut blond hair looked far too comfortable.
In one of the corner booths, a young man with blonde hair cut straight seemed far too comfortable.
He sprawled across the vinyl seat with all the elegance of a bored cat. He wore loose trousers, a neatly pressed white shirt, and a tie that looked as though it had been knotted in the morning and ignored ever since. A brown newsboy cap covered his face, hiding his eyes completely. One shoe rested on the seat, while the other tapped discreetly to the rhythm of the jazz.
To anyone else, he looked simply like someone taking a nap in a place where he had no intention of paying rent.
The bell above the door jingled.
A slender woman with dark hair entered, adjusting her glasses with one hand and scanning the room with the other. She dressed in a long‑sleeved sailor fuku, with a teal green‑blue collar and a matching pleated miniskirt that ended at her stomach. She crossed the diner with calm, unhurried steps, the wooden floor creaking beneath her sneakers. Her expression was indecipherable — a mix of mild irritation and resigned familiarity.
She stopped beside the booth.
The blond man did not move.
The young woman arched a brow. "…Are you actually asleep, or just pretending so I'll be the one to start talking?"
He didn't answer, though the corner of his mouth twitched under the cap.
With a sigh, she plucked the cap off his head.
He squinted against the diner's bright ceiling lights, scrunching his nose in exaggerated annoyance."Oi, Lisa, ever heard of waking someone up gently?"
"You weren't sleeping." She slid into the opposite seat, crossing her legs with practiced ease. "And you're the one who called me here." She adjusted her glasses again, eyes narrowing in faint irritation. "So talk."
She leaned forward slightly, the diner lights leaving shifting reflections across her lenses.
"What did you want to discuss, Hirako?"
Hirako lifted his eyes to the ceiling with an expression that was comically sour, his upper teeth jutting out in a half-pout that made him look like a disgruntled cartoon character."Change of plans."
Lisa blinked, thrown off. "What do you mean 'change of plans'?"
Shinji kept the same unimpressed grimace. "Looks like Ichigo Kurosaki isn't the only one walking around with an inner Hollow to keep under control…"
"And?" Lisa leaned back slightly, unimpressed. "So you gave up talking to him because now there's another one in the same mess?"
"I still intend to talk to Ichigo Kurosaki," Shinji replied, finally dropping his gaze back to her. "But I wouldn't call the situations identical…" He straightened his posture, the vinyl squeaking slightly beneath him as he did. "Now Ichigo's friend—Yato Yasakani—has also shown signs of having an inner Hollow."
Lisa crossed her arms, her brow rising. "Two of them now, huh?"
"Mm." Shinji exhaled slowly. "And Ichigo's reiatsu is getting more unstable by the day. I wouldn't be surprised if his Hollow is messing with his head already."
"And what about the other boy?" she asked.
"He's… oddly calm for someone carrying a Hollow inside him." Shinji clicked his tongue. "Too calm, actually."
Lisa narrowed her eyes. "And what does any of this have to do with me?"
Shinji clasped his hands atop the table, leaning forward slightly. "Since the situation changed—and since Aizen is almost certainly keeping an eye on both boys—I need someone to keep watch on Yasakani while I focus on Kurosaki."
Lisa didn't even hesitate. "Nope. Count me out. Ask someone else." She reclined into the booth, the leather sighing beneath her weight. "Call Hiyori for that."
"Terrible idea," Shinji answered instantly. "She wouldn't know how to deal with either of them, and it'd just create more problem."
"Kensei?" she offered lazily.
"Don't know where he is… and he doesn't exactly have the patience for teenagers."
"Love? Hachi? Rose?" Her irritation was climbing, visible even behind her glasses.
"Yasakani is… careful," Shinji explained. "Paranoid, even. If any of those three approached him out of nowhere, he'd immediately start suspecting something."
Lisa was about to mention one more name—Mashiro—but the mere mental image of the hyperactive woman attempting to shadow someone discreetly made her shut her mouth before the name even left her lips.
Instead, she sighed. "Even if that's the case, what makes you think I'd have the patience to babysit some teenager? And why wouldn't he suspect me too?"
Shinji didn't answer. Instead, he reached beneath him and slid something across the table toward her.
A glossy magazine. The cover featured a woman in lingerie, the unmistakable type of publication that required being eighteen or pretending convincingly to be.
Lisa stared down at it with her usual stoic expression. "…Is this the new issue?"
"Yep," Shinji answered with a grin that was equal parts smug and shameless.
Without a shred of embarrassment, Lisa began flipping through the magazine right there in the booth, her attention far more engrossed by the pages than by the weight of the conversation.
Still, she spoke after a moment, eyes scanning an article with suspicious interest.
"So… what's this Yato Yasakani like?"
**
Meanwhile, Minamikawase
Yato walked home at a slow, dragging pace, each step reminding him of the bruises forming beneath his clothes. He had ended up training with Tatsuki far longer than he intended—partly because he needed the distraction, partly because he genuinely wanted to learn some martial arts techniques.
…Or that had been the plan.In reality, the "training session" had been Tatsuki relentlessly beating the soul out of him while he did his best to stay upright.
As he trudged down the quiet residential street, Cheshire materialized on his shoulder in a gentle swirl of glowing red threads, its feline shape knitting itself together with lazy elegance.
"I have to admit," the cat purred, tail curling smugly behind its back, "the moment Tatsuki's mother walked in while you two were exchanging punches was glorious."
Yato groaned, every muscle protesting.The memory replayed itself whether he wanted it to or not: Tatsuki's mother unexpectedly sliding open the dojo door, gasping dramatically at the sight of her daughter and Yato trading blows—and then immediately insisting that Yato stay for dinner.Tatsuki had been mortified.Yato had tried, painfully politely, to decline.Every excuse he attempted instantly crumbled under Mrs. Arisawa's relentless motherly enthusiasm.
He rubbed his face. "She only stopped pestering me after I promised I'd come over for dinner another day… I had to say I hadn't cooked anything at home and that I still needed to work." He sighed deeply. "Man… Mrs. Junko is even more stubborn than Tatsuki when she locks onto something. What a pain…"
Turning the corner, he approached his house, the windows dim and the street already settling into the soft quiet of early evening.
He unlocked the door with slow, tired movements. "What a day…" he muttered, stepping inside.
But just as he was slipping off his shoes—
CLUNK.
A noise.From the kitchen.
Yato froze, expression sharpening into irritation.Cheshire began to snicker on his shoulder.
'Please let it be a Hollow,' Yato thought darkly as he summoned his Fullbring without hesitation. 'Because if it's a burglar, I swear I'm going to beat him into the floor.'
He moved silently down the small hallway.Turned the corner.
And stopped.
The refrigerator door was wide open, its cold light spilling across the tiles.Half-bent inside it, rummaging through shelves like she owned the place, was a figure that he assumed—based on the skirt—was a girl.
Yato tensed, ready to unleash a very unfriendly surprise.But then the girl straightened up.
Large amber eyes landed on him with utter lack of concern.She had a slice of bread hanging from her mouth, a bottle of juice in her right hand, and a cup already filled in her left. Her violet hair was tied off with a distinctive red ribbon that bounced lightly when she moved.
The girl brightened immediately, cheerful as if she hadn't just broken into his house.
She set the bottle and the cup on the table, finished chewing her bread, and sighed dramatically.
"Seriously, dude?" she complained. "There's nothing in your fridge except Cup Noodles?"
Yato stared.Once.Twice.Three times.
His brain lagged.
Then— he finally choked out.
"...Senna?"