"Karasumaru-kun!" Momoto-san called out to me. "Take this order to Teguchi-dono!" she shouted, placing a box on the table.
"Yes!"
I jumped up, grabbed the package, gave a quick salute, and rushed off to the address. Teguchi-dono is a regular customer of Momoto Kuroki's confectionery shop. We have the best sweets in the 10th District—here at the Black Tree Confectionery. And I'm the best delivery boy, so I've been trusted with large orders like this plenty of times before. They've gotten used to me over the three years I've been here.
I burst out of the shop and sprint down the road, weaving easily between people. I know how to run. Despite my short height and thin build, I'm very fast—probably the fastest in our district.
Left, right—then I leap over a distracted old man who doesn't even notice me. He's used to it. I keep going, pushing my speed.
My bare feet carry me swiftly to my destination. It used to hurt to run like this, but now I don't even bother with shoes. I can't find any that feel comfortable anyway, and I've long since gotten used to being barefoot.
Further ahead, the street thickens with a crowd. Not good.
I turn left and jump onto a stack of boxes by the wall, climbing up onto the roof. Running on top, there's no one in the way—and I can really let loose.
"Good morning!" I call as I pass the window of old woman Miro. I run by here all the time. She just waves at me now. She used to scold me for it, but people get used to everything eventually.
It's been three years since I ended up in Rukongai. This place… it's both good and bad. Honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Do I like it here or not?
For one thing, time here stopped somewhere in the Middle Ages. I still remember the world I came from—there was technology, even computers—but here, no one even thinks about progress.
And then there's the bigger problem: Seireitei, home of the Shinigami. The closer a district is to it, the calmer life tends to be. And the farther away, the less safe it gets. From the 60th to the 80th District, it's basically a hotbed of crime. That's why I don't like the Shinigami. There are too few of them to help everyone and protect everyone. And the aristocracy that makes up the Central 46 couldn't care less about the residents of Rukongai, so they don't want to accept many Shinigami. They could at least form a police force, but—of course—no one wants to pay for that.
So, the Guides can only influence maybe two or three dozen districts at most. The rest? Left to chance. There, the Hollows eat their fill. They say the 12th Division monitors the Hollow activity and has the most advanced tech, but, again, that's not a cure-all. There aren't that many powerful shinigami, and it's simply impossible to be everywhere at once. After all, they have to protect the World of the Living too. Their workload's enormous.
I was lucky once—to meet kind Isane-san. Shinigami rarely help anyone as much as she helped me. I was lucky to run into such compassionate people back then.
Three years ago, Rangiku—who serves as the lieutenant of the 10th Division—brought me to Momoto-san's confectionery. She's kind and cheerful. A little plump, looks about thirty, short, and cute—in short, an ordinary Japanese woman. Only… she's not married. She doesn't remember who she was in her past life. It seems she died and has been living here for about forty years. She told me she once searched for her husband but never found him. She loves cooking and making sweets, and she looks after three more kids. We all work for her at the shop.
Kiki is the youngest—she handles cleaning. Hikari, who's my age, already helps in the kitchen. And the oldest, Kittan, works at the counter and manages paperwork and other errands.
At first, I kept to myself, but gradually we all got used to each other. They're good people, but they live only for the present. So I'm the only one among them who wants to becoming a Shinigami. They want to preserve what they have; I want something more. We're friends, but that's all—just good friends.
They care about the here and now. I care about everything around us.
I don't know why, but I care about the fate of this world and its people. Why? I don't know. I just can't stand by and do nothing.
Anyway. I should get back to my pressing problem—or rather, my work.
We only deliver sweets to regular customers. Those who have already placed orders for specific days. So every week, I run around delivering to different addresses. Recently, Teguchi-dono became one of our regulars. He loves dango, though I think he's mostly looking for an excuse to visit Momoto-san. He's a good man, so we don't mind. And he's well-off—owns a sawmill. In short, he's a decent bloke, strong and smart. Honestly, I think Momoto-san should pay more attention to him.
Overall, my life's turned out pretty well. Even if I never become a Shinigami, I could just live here. There's room to grow and work to do.
The only downside is my appearance. I've grown over the past three years, but I'm still… cute. So nearly every woman wants to squeeze me. That's why I learned to run very fast. Luckily, I often hide my face under a hood, so not everyone gets the chance to realize how kawaii I really am.
I hope this phase passes with age. I really do.
Okay, time to head down.
I jumped from the roof and reached the right address.
Teguchi-dono's house is large. The guard recognized me and waved me through, so I quickly stepped inside. But there were also Shinigami standing near the entrance. What's going on? They looked serious—all silent, standing like statues.
It's all very strange.
Teguchi-dono himself was speaking with an aristocrat—a tall brunette with an odd hairstyle and a captain's haori. Wow. A big shot. There was a number six on his back. Must be an aristocrat too—just look at his manners. The guards in front of the building only confirmed it. But he's a captain, so it makes sense. Whatever.*6*
They were talking about something, but I couldn't hear. I waited quietly by the wall for them to finish.
Since I had time, I started practicing my reiryoku concentration. Rangiku, who lives nearby, showed me how to meditate. She said it would be useful someday. I didn't argue— just started practicing.
All right. I let go of the world and close my eyes.
I begin forming a small orb of light between my hands. It's a basic exercise for beginners. Rangiku taught it to me when she first settled here, saying it would help later on. At first, I couldn't manage it at all. But I didn't give up and kept training. Now, three years later, I can easily create these glowing spheres around me. It's my reiryoku. It's weak and not much use, but it's a start.
The lieutenant also taught me to control my emotions. She wasn't exactly great at that herself, but she remembered the basics well enough and passed them on to me faithfully. It was always amusing to watch her trying to recall lessons from half a century ago. Still, I try hard—training both spiritually and physically. I run a lot, and in this place, you've always got to be ready to defend yourself. It's relatively safe here, but criminals from other districts still wander in sometimes.
Just recently, some shady types tried to rob local vendors, but the Shinigami came and beat them up. Even here, in the 10th District, that sort of shit happens.
I see and remember everything. It all looks peaceful on the surface, but I can tell—it's just a screen, a fog.
I've also noticed I'm very different from other kids. I don't know how to put it—maybe I'm smarter? I never thought of myself as especially gifted, but I am observant and I can reason things out. Which is… unusual for a child my age. So, who was I when I was alive? I don't remember.
Oh well.
When I came out of my meditation, the Shinigami had already finished his conversation and was heading for the exit.
But when he saw me, he stopped—and froze. I wasn't expecting that, and I had no idea what I'd done wrong. Was I supposed to bow or something? I quickly dismissed the light orbs, just in case.
"Girl?" he asked in a cold tone.
"I'm a guy!" I snapped. I hate my appearance.
"Hmm. Hard to believe."
"I think it's indecent to present evidence." I snorted.
He considered me for a moment, then just walked away.
"What was that about?" I murmured to myself.
"Karasu-kun," Teguchi-dono called, approaching me—a tall, broad-shouldered man with fair hair and a thick beard. Don't ask where a man like that came from in Japan, or why he has that name; just ask Rangiku. "I'm glad you came."