Pyrrhic victory. noun. A victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat. Someone who wins a Pyrrhic victory has been victorious in some way; however, the heavy toll negates any sense of achievement or profit.
Chapter 686: Death & Strawberry
(B-Side: The Pyrrhic Victory)
He heard the grunt of exhaustion burst from his throat and felt spittle against his lips as he sunk his sword deeper. His teeth bared and his hackles showed. Zangetsu, as rabid as he himself felt, cut through to the other side of his enemy and freed itself from the black, gurgling mass. The sword rung with finality, and time stopped.
The shattered mess under his feet, Seriteri, came back to view in lieu of the rolling darkness of his attack.
The Almighty sloughed itself off its host and spilled unto the white concrete ground, black on white. The eyes began to bubble and roll back. Dead.
And Yhwach coughed thick blackness from his mouth and over his white uniform. Dying.
The odds had tipped in his favor and his heart jumped with that feeling of levity in his chest.
He had won.
He had won.
…So why was it, when Yhwach's lower body began to evaporate and more of the dark liquid that had to be blood flowed out his mouth, he heard laughter? And why did the laughs grow louder when he again twisted his blade in his enemy?
His brow furrowed and his teeth grit, seething hatred. Something flew past his eye and he blinked wildly. "What's…so funny?"
"You are." Yhwach laughed and coughed and bled. "Because of all your efforts here. Can you—" his mirth quickly became the sounds of life ending, "see it, Ichigo?" He panted, "…The sand?"
He was still blinking, but for a moment, he took his gaze away from his rival and stared at the ground. Underneath his blade and the soles of his sandals, like spilled rice still in their husks, were grains of black sand.
The—what had he called them? The "pieces of the future?"
"…Yes…" His enemy gurgled in satisfaction, "there it is…"
They rose from the ground and floated into the air. They gathered and thickened; he squinted his eyes to slits for protection from them and gripped his katana's hilt all the more tightly. He couldn't be distracted; Yhwach's face was barely detectable.
If only his voice had been the same. "Can you, not, see it?"
"See…" his jaw clenched and sweat dripped down his brow and his eyelids fluttered, "see…what?"
"The future I missed. The last future that existed where you defeated me…and had the outcome you wanted.
"I looked into all the futures, all these bits of sand. I saw…the paths where you only defeated me like this; and I saw events of things you want…to happen only come true when you placed your sword down and joined me. …In this one grain, you had both. You had your victory…and your Shinigami."
Rukia. He was talking about him and Rukia.
"Can you, not, see it…Ichigo?!"
He could now in the black haze. Admist all that darkness was a single golden grain of sand, and it hung in the air mere inches from his face. It twinkled before his eyes…and the future unfolded before him.
The layout of his living room was becoming very clear. And then there he was: eighteen with a duffle bag at his feet and surrounded by his family and friends. He was saying goodbye for the last time…
Nine months since the last sighting of Yhwach and The Almighty had passed by in a blur. Of those months, six had been spent with him tired, bloodied and bruised, and capable of only lying on his back on a cot in the Fourth Division as squares of sunlight moved from the left of the hospital room to the right, east to west. He had grimaced from the pain that came from trying to flex his fingers and wiggle his toes and lift his arms for six months. For six months, he had thought of this last battle and of that feeling of victory. And the battles that had come before: his sweat and blood and tears; the precipice he had toed the edge of time and time again.
And when it was dark at night, he thought of the time when none of those moments existed. When he was just Human and just living: eighteen months of feeling dark and incomplete until the blade of a blazing white sword had pierced his heart.
By the time he was well, he had made the decision to stay in Seriteri and be where he felt his purpose the most.
"I guess this means that I'm finally smarter than you, eh, Ichigo?" Keigo said. He was still chewing the sandwich point he had stuffed into his mouth not three seconds before. "Who would've," he swallowed audibly without water, "thought I would have made it into college?!"
Although he couldn't understand why the shorter, brown-haired boy felt some sort of pride in admitting he was dumb, he let it slide. "I guess. But, it also means that after getting ready for the entrance exams, you're probably not that good at being a delinquent anymore." He watched as the proud look on the other boy's face slowly became blank and then thunderstruck. "And anyway," he rushed through before the tears and dramatics came, "they have an academy over there, too. I'll still probably have to be a student."
"Wait. They'd actually make you go to school there?!" Tatsuki asked. "After all of that?! You saved the world!"
"Yeah, well, that's how they do things over there."
"I'm sure you'll be great at the Academy, Kurosaki-kun," Inoue said. She and Tatsuki were wearing shirts from their own respective colleges, and he had heard from the latter that they were both leaving in the next couple of days.
"Hmm," the tomboy said. "Well—if what Kuchiki-san said was true about you always leveling buildings every time you fight somebody, you probably do need to go to school. That has to be expensive."
"Shut up."
The conversation was over, and Ichigo's eyes scanned his living room at his friends and family gathered in clusters: Yuzu in the kitchen with more platters of food and fruit and liters of soda; Mizuno and Karin sitting on the couch, the former's hands sliding over his iPhone screen in total concentration, and the latter just watching everyone quietly. Big brother and little sister's eyes met and a small smile flitted on her face. Her reiatsu emitted in amber-yellow waves. Tatsuki and Inoue, spending time together before school separated them for the next few months… His thoughts wandered over to Chad and Ishida: the former was likely on the last leg of his journey to Mexico, and the latter's trek to the mountains of the Quincy had just begun. He even thought of Urahara settling into the office of the Thirteenth Squad as its interim captain.
And then there was Rukia.
She was standing on the other side of the room and talking with his dad.
Her violet eyes found his and he saw the smile on her face. That soft look held for about two seconds, and then in a flash, her expression became smug.
His attention was piqued now because he knew that look well: his dad was talking shit, and she was gathering up ammo for later on.
He almost moved right then and there to break up the conversation, but then realized he didn't have to; there was no way his old man could speak quietly. The dumbass.
"We both know that my son is a complete dumbass," Isshin said with a sly smile towards him, "but I know you'll be able to keep him in check, Rukia-chan."
She made a carefree gesture and her bob swept over the shoulders of her uniform. This time when she looked over at him, she smirked and her eyebrow rose. Teasing him. "Of course. You can count on me."
"I know I can. He's okay with a sword, so there's not much he can do to mess this up; and if Kyoraku's smart, he'll make him a captain for sure. And," Isshin's voice rose suddenly, "when once he does make captain, he'll make you my third daughter once and for all!"
Absolute silence blanketed the room.
"You couldn't give it a rest for one day, could you?!" Karin shook her head, annoyed about what was going to happen—what they all knew was going to happen.
A silent, blushing Rukia and everyone else moved to the side as Ichigo made his running start across the room. He jumped the last six feet and extended his leg in a flying kick that made solid contact against the side of his old man's face.
Isshin crashed into the wall behind him, the imprint of Ichigo's sneaker sole on his jaw.
"Ah!" Inoue said. "Kurosaki-kun, Kuchiki-san! Look outside!"
They all looked over to see the black butterfly fluttering outside the Kurosaki Family Clinic's sliding glass doors, waiting patiently.
It was time to go.
Rukia walked towards him, all jokes put aside for now. "Ready, Ichigo?"
He sighed and straightened up. "Yeah." He picked up his things and looked around the room once more at their smiling, but melancholy faces…and at the picture on the wall of his mother. He felt his lips curve upward to match hers…
He gripped his bag and righted himself. "Everybody…do your best."
Five years from that: He was a graduate of the Shinigami Academy, a seated officer of the Seventh Division…and a bridegroom. On this day, he was standing at the altar with the sound of biwas and kotos wafting in the air. Despite the music, the nervous beating of his heart was about the only thing he could hear in his ears as he waited for the woman who was to be his wife to come. His palms and armpits were sweaty.
Anytime now.
"Ah," Kyoraku, acting as officiator of the ceremony, murmured beside him. "There she is." A smile slowly grew on his face.
He saw the large red umbrella from across the distance of the Kuchiki Family Garden.
The captain-commander's arms rose to signal silence. A hush settled among the mix of their colorful guests, except for his dad, who had been looking especially giddy all morning. True to form, he raised his phone in the air and the sound of its shutter clicking was more than a little audible.
They turned down the pathway, and then there was Byakuya. The same as he always was: stoic, aristocratic, and stern—only for this day, he had traded his captain's haori for a rich blue robe.
And there she was. Dressed in her white kimono, its hem draped over her left hand and the right clasped in her brother's. Her lips were a pretty shade of red, her cheeks a shade of soft pink. That one strand of hair on her forehead had freed itself from underneath her tsunokakushi.
He was reminded of when he had saved her; he was reminded of the first time he had seen her bankai and its white robe; he was reminded of the fact that she looked beautiful dressed in white.
Everything different about his life now—his changed world, of his purpose as a Shinigami of the Gotei 13—all came back to her. And the things he thought whenever he saw her—the moon; pure white snow; and the clear, sunny skies in his inner world—were indications that he loved her.
Thank goodness he had finally realized it—that he had finally admitted it. That Renji and Matsumomo and even Zangetsu…everyone…had helped him see it. It had taken so long from him to realize that there was a reason why the way he felt about her wasn't like how he felt about every other woman in his life. That it was deeper, that it burned brighter, and the mere thought of it changed the taste in his mouth. In the five years he had spent in Seriteri—beyond these five years, back on that night when he was really just a brat who had been only hours away from the encounter that would change everything—he had finally realized what it meant when he saw her and the rest of the world faded to white.
He really loved her.
She was his favorite sparring partner, both verbal and non-verbal; the one that he liked to watch fight and train with the most during their sessions when sweat ran down her body in the sun, and flakes of ice from her attacks landed on his face.
She was his mentor, favorite tutor, and the reason he had graduated so quickly. He didn't miss those tests and essays and those nights spent in his barracks, and soon he wouldn't have to just remember those times she slept in the chair beside him in blissful peace, exhausted from her own preparations to become captain.
She was his favorite person to be alone with, the person he wanted to be alone with the most. She was the girl he wanted to kiss forever. He wanted to always hear her breath hitch in surprise when he came close and pressed his lips to hers. Her fingers were the only ones he wanted to feel desperately tugging at his clothes, frustrated to get them off his body. She was still able to bring peaches to mind whenever his palms slid down and squeezed her bare butt.
And after today, he would have all of those things. And the things she had said to Byakuya and those elders when they had announced their plans to be married—that he was the sun to her, the one that truly knew her, and a man with an unchanging heart—he was ready to be all those things.
The Kuchiki siblings neared the altar and his soon-to-be brother-in-law stared at him for exactly ten seconds with unspoken threats in his eyes before extending her hand towards his.
His heart climbed into his throat and then melted back into his chest as he felt Rukia's smaller, delicate hand in his larger, calloused one.
"Friends," Kyoraku said, "let's begin."
And then 50 more years from that.
They were holding hands again—or rather, she was digging her nails into his skin. As tiny as her hand actually was, she had a death grip on him, one he couldn't do a single thing about.
He stared at her and tried to forget about the pain. They had been at this for almost an entire day now and they had come to the last stretch of this journey to end all journeys. Her lips were puckered into an "O," and her breathing a forced staccato that puffed and deflated her cheeks. Sweat poured down her face, and the yells and grunts and whines that came from the back of her throat were strained.
He, just as sweaty and tired and pained at her cries and her hand, could only imagine how much worse than death childbirth could be.
"Okay! The head is beginning to crown!" Isane's voice said through her surgical mask. Rukia's fellow captain was between her opened legs, and for the first time in all those previous months of appointments and LaMaze classes, her voice rang with the confidence that came with her position.
He turned his head for one second and craned his neck. Maybe he could see something?
"Push…push…PUSH! ALMOST THERE!"
"Ichigo!" Rukia grunted. Her jaw clenched and temples bulged. "AH!" Her right leg flared in the air, another spasm of pain. "ICHIGO!"
"It's okay," he murmured. His lips pressed against her forehead as she gasped in pain. "It's okay…just a little more…just a little more…"
He was going to be a dad, and Rukia was going to be the mother of his child—their child. The extra room back at home was finally going to be occupied with their new addition to the family. The baby clothes and blankets and shoes and the rocket chairs they had collected were finally going to be put to use; he was going to have to live up to his promise to learn to be okay with Chappy plushies being in every corner of their home.
Had it really been a full nine months from when she, in the wake of another night of lovemaking and orgasms and warm towels wiping sweat and his fingers in her long, dark hair and her fingers swirling the hairs under his chin, told him she was pregnant? Had it really been six months since that secret stopped being a secret and they were both inundated with congratulations and inquires and appointments with the Kuchiki Elders? And all those moments of morning sickness and trips to the marketplace for strawberries and favors asked of his subordinates visiting the Human World to buy a pint of ice cream at Urahara's—those moments were almost done? Had all his conversations with Zangetsu for advice and those long walks at night where he thought about the change in his never-ending future really happened?
Yes.
They had had so many fears. She, who had never experienced the love of a parent she could remember, worried over being a mother. Worried about if she could live up to that standard, that title. If she embodied the things she needed to be a mother. And he, who had lost his mother (and cringed at the thought of becoming an idiot like his dad), worried about this true test of protecting this new little life, this person they had come to know and love without having met yet.
Until now.
The words he was repeating—"IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou"—ended in the moments when Rukia's final yell gave way and she fell to the bed, exhausted.
…A high-pitched, world-changing cry pierced the air.
Ichigo felt his heart stop.
"Congratulations, Kurosaki-san, Rukia-chan! It's a girl!"
A girl. A girl. He realized in that very moment he had really, really wanted a girl. Now that she was here, he reveled in the joy he felt at it coming true… "Rukia…"
In the moments when their baby was carried away to be cleaned and swaddled, Rukia looked into his eyes and the most beautiful smile crossed her face. "Yeah," she said, understanding.
A girl.
"Here, she, is~!" Isane sang, holding a bundle of pale-yellow cloth no longer than a loaf of bread. "Six pounds, 50.8 centimeters. Her heart rate and reiatsu levels are normal; her breathing is fine. And all fingers and toes are there…! She is the picture of health, but I thought it would be best to let you see her before I talk about hair and eye color."
The bundle was passed into his wife's arms and he was almost face-to-face with the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. Already he could see that she took after her mother: her long, black eyelashes; her pursed lips; the slight pink of her round cheeks.
But the wisps of hair that peeked under her cap…
"Purple eyes, just like her mommy. And her hair is brown, of course. Just like Daddy's."
Mommy. Rukia wore that title so fast, so quickly. She was already quieting the cries that came from that tiny mouth. "It's okay," she said softly, rocking the bundle gently. "It's okay."
And it was okay. Their baby stilled and her little mouth yawned before quieting to sleep. Her nostrils flared quickly, inhaling the air.
"Here, you take her."
He reached out for her, and in seconds, his daughter was cradled in his own arms. She felt almost weightless, and he felt his heart soar.
"Now to the name," Isane said.
The name. He stared at her, at the wisps of hair and the way they curled on her forehead. That color, that brightness. They reminded him of the sun, of a halo; he was reminded of—
"Masaki." Rukia murmured before he could even open his mouth and say it himself. Her felt her fingers against his cheek and for the first time, realized he was crying. "Her name is 'Kurosaki Masaki,' Isane-chan."
"O~kay!" the pen in their Fourth Division captain's hands made the necessary note. "Perfect!"
Perfect.
Decade after decade. Century after century of his life together with Rukia until—
"Will the new captain please enter!" Nanao's voice boomed. "Captain of Squad One: Captain-Commander Kurosaki Ichigo."
He emerged from the other side of the room and stared where the relieved captain-commander and his fukutaichos stood. His haori and his shoulder armor were heavy on his shoulders; his footsteps across the hardwood floor were measured and unhurried. Long ago the impulse to rush through things in his life had gone away, but had he been allowed to on this day, he would have ran like the brash teenager he once was.
It was finally happening. That was what he had told himself that morning when looked in the mirror and saw the picture of a man 45 years old—broad chested like his old man, full beard and head of orange-brown hair now streaked with gray and turning silver at the temples—looking back at him.
After 300 years, he was finally becoming a captain.
His eyes flitted up and looked into the faces of his fellow captains…
His wife, her long hair tinted purple and molded in her shimada mage with the hair comb he had given her on their 125th anniversary in her bun, was always beautiful, but most especially on this day. He kept his eyes on her short form and her beautiful face. In more than three centuries, he realized there were moments when his eyes were saying the things he couldn't voice. He was doing it now, willing her wide eyes to open to look at him.
They did, deep and glittering amethyst.
Then came that feeling, that same feeling from when she had pierced his heart the first time, from when he had stood in the sky and told her he was saving her, from when he saw her smile again after all their hardships, from when she had stood outside his classroom window, from the second time she had stabbed him and brought him to life again.
"Thank you." He murmured under his breath.
She smiled.
…Those years and milestones began to fade away…
The grain of sand turned black and then mixed with the others. Lost.
He hadn't realized he was crying until he felt the tears run down his cheeks and tasted wet salt against his lips. His eyes closed for a moment, and he swore he felt her hand pressing against his cheeks, wiping his sadness away.
"Ah."
Yhwach, too, was disappearing, but his head remained. He smiled, his perfectly-aligned teeth all the more grotesque. "So that was what it would have taken. Had I known that future was what that grain held," he panted, "and had I known that it was the one future that could test your…selflessness…your blind willingness to protect this way of life and death… I would have offered it to you. I would have promised it just for you. And I would've watched you place down your sword and accept it. Wholeheartedly.
"But now the path has closed, Ichigo.
"You will move forward from this moment in time. The life you lead may hold…moments of contentment, but even in those times of joy…you'll know deep down that what you have wasn't what you would have ever wanted. And you'll think about how badly you would take another chance if ever it was presented to you."
He laughed. "Enjoy this path of life you created for yourself. And may you find whatever scraps of happiness you can muster."
He gave one final smile.
And then Yhwach was gone.
Only he remained, victorious, with grains of black sand pressing against his palms and his spilled tears falling to the ground.
A/N: There's no need for me to say why I wrote this. After the years of watching Bleach every week in college, reading the manga from the beginning, and seeing my OTP be built and develop—only for it to be crushed.
(siiiigggghhhh)
I'm inspired to write more of these. It's been some time since I wrote some Bleach and honestly I've wanted to do it for a while. In the face of Chapter 686 however, there is a desire to completely switch gears, deviate from Ichigo and Yhwach's final encounter, and go full hog—and I'll be on that kick for a while as I re-read the earlier volumes. But, I wanted to get this one out first—I needed to get the feels out. And I had to make the IchiRuki Baby That Will Never Be (who had always been a boy to me, but I suddenly liked more as a girl about two days ago).
