Title: His Platycodon Grandiflorus and Her Prunus Serrulata

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite

Credit: thank you for Wordmage Kazzidae, EowynsPen, Masked Soldier, DarknessFlameWolfand Firefly Knights for beta reading.

Warnings: chick-lit, the majority of the cast are OCs, no citrus, non-tragic, extreme mushiness ahead

Timeline Reminder:

Bleach Gaiden, which displayed the immature and hot-tempered Byakuya, happened 110 years before the main story began (Ichigo first met Rukia). Byakuya married Hisana 55 years before the main story and she died 50 years before the main story started. Rukia joined the Gotei 13 a year after Hisana's death and Byakuya became the sixth division captain a few months before this, or in other words, less than 49 years before the main story. Therefore, in this fic, Byakuya had not met Renji. Please consult bleach wiki for more details.

Byakuya, at this time, was still unable to perform bankai, but he was already an accomplished kidō master. As far as his character is concerned, he was in transition from the loudmouthed brat to his more mature self in Kubo Tite's story, so he was not as calm and quiet back then. I presume that he became totally apathetic, silent, cold and distant after Hisana's death, although he had already started to gain these qualities (in smaller amount) simply by aging, even before he met her.

Byakuya had not become the Kuchiki head. He wore kenseikan to symbolize that he was the heir, but not the ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu (silver-white, windflower light silk) scarf, which was a family heirloom that was handed down from generation to generation to each Kuchiki family head, since his grandfather, Ginrei, was still alive and well.

Some notes before you start reading:

Platycodon grandiflorus is the Latin name for bellflower whereas Prunus serrulata is the Latin name for cherry blossom.

Itadakimasu = bon appetite

Remember Ōmaeda Marechiyo, the current second division's vice-captain? I give him an elder brother here: Ōmaeda Marechiko (õmae damare chiko = you, shut up, Chiko!)

Obi = a sash worn as a waistband for kimono and keikogi

Kaiken = a dagger used for defending oneself and even to commit suicide upon threat of dishonor

Kumi-himo = kimono belt made of woven silken cord, tied over an obi

CHAPTER I

The Fateful Encounter

Hisana opened her eyes at the sound of wailing. Children's wailing. Unfamiliar children's wailing.

But the children were not the only ones that were strangers to her. Her surroundings, too, were completely unknown. She found herself confined in a moving room, possibly a carriage. Cramped together with her were eleven or so other children—it was hard to determine their number accurately in the encasing darkness. Neither lantern light nor blanket warmth comforted the children in that carriage. It would have even been impossible to tell that now was nighttime had it not been for the hooting of the owls outside.

"I don't want to be sold as a slave." A little boy, perhaps no older than seven year old, wept.

"What's a slave?" A smaller voice came out from an even younger girl sitting next to him.

"You'll be lucky enough to end up as a child slave. That teenage girl over there will probably end up as a sex slave." The voice belonged to a boy at the verge of adolescence and Hisana had a hunch that he was pointing at her. "But that's not all. I heard some people actually like to eat human babies. What are you going to do to protect that baby, eh?"

'Baby?'

Only then, Hisana paid attention to an extra weight on her lap. Her youngest sister, Rukia, was sleeping in a bundle, unperturbed by all the noises. Could it really be true that their parents had sold them off?

A feeling, of which name Hisana had yet to suspect, had taken possession of her soul—a sensation to which her experience in life thus far were meaningless and for which only atrocious futurity itself would provide her the key. She was aware that her parents were so poor that they were always dressed in tatters, often having nothing to eat for days, and were compelled to borrow money from shark loans, but to condemn their children to slavery to settle their debts…?

Hisana could still remember their dinner earlier on that evening.

###

"Dad, is it really all right for us to eat this fish?"

"Sure, dear. My job has gone well. Tonight's our little celebration." Her father smiled and Hisana did not suspect that this would be the last smile she saw of her father.

"Here's the biggest slice for you, Hisana-chan." Her mother laid a piece of fish onto Hisana's bowl with her chopsticks. Normally, in addition to the bowl of rice, one would have a plate or more for the meat and vegetables since transferring the food to someone else's dish with one's own chopsticks was considered a breach of hygiene. However, this family's financial condition did not enable them to afford such luxury. Even their dining table was the only table in that hut, and it came from another family's dump.

"Wow!" Hisana stared wide-eyed; that was going to be the biggest chunk of meat she would consume in years. "But why don't you or dad have it?"

"You are still growing. You need more nutrition than we do."

"Thanks, mom."

"Not fair! Not fair!" one of Hisana's little brothers pouted.

"I want the fish too," supported another younger brother.

"Mom, why does Hisana nee-chan get a bigger fish than us?" This time, it was one of her sisters who protested.

Their mother clapped her hands. "Come on all, no fighting. Hisana gets more today, but tomorrow, it'll be your turn, one by one."

The seven children that gathered around a creaky low table replied with "yes, mom" in unison.

Their mother put her palms together in front of her chest and said, "Now, itadakima−"

Her word was interrupted by the sound of a baby crying.

"It sounds like Rukia is hungry too." She rushed to their room, the only bedroom in the hut.

Hisana, meanwhile, stifled a yawn after she had eaten a few mouthfuls.

"Nee-chan, you're already sleepy at this hour?" One of her siblings asked.

"Mmm … I don't know, I feel really sleepy."

Hisana yawned again and again during dinner. She did not even remember leaving the dining table. Probably she just slept there, with her chin stuck to her dining bowl, and her parents just handed her and Rukia over to the coachman for a certain amount of rice.

It was not that unusual to trade children for food among the most penurious of families in Rukongai. Even so, Hisana had never thought that this would befall her family. Her parents cared so much for each other as well as for their children. They were a happy family.

They used to be.

###

'So this is the taste of betrayal.' Hisana closed her eyes and leaned her back against the hard wall of the carriage. She would not shed a tear. Doing so would be equal to admitting defeat. 'Defeat? From those who brought Rukia and me into the world and then trashed us? Never!' Hisana clenched her jaw. Subconsciously, she gripped her tattered kimono. It was then she remembered that Rukia was on her lap.

One swift glance at the little angel's sleeping face, and then a sudden dread seized Hisana. 'What about the rest of our siblings? Will they be sold too one day?'

Following an abrupt thud, most of the passengers bumped into one another; the carriage must have bumped onto a large rock on the hill. Apparently, the lock had not been bolted with enough care and now the door flung open as a result. Some of the braver children fought over the exit. Others followed their lead. A little girl was scared to jump from the moving vehicle, but her brother encouraged her, and she, too, eventually succeeded in making her escape to freedom.

Hisana jumped last, foreseeing that her movements would stir Rukia from her sleep and that her cry would likely to alert the coachman. She guessed right, but the children had already been too far to recapture when the mustached man realized their absence from his carriage. With her baby sister in her arms, Hisana ran through the white forest at the foot of the Sōkyoku Hill. The coachman and his curses pursued the escaping children, but not for long, for youthful nimbleness soon overcame the chaser's stamina. Without once looking back, Hisana headed to another Rukongai district on the other side of the Soul Society.

Carrying Rukia on her back, Hisana searched for a job from place to place. It was hard enough to find a job for a lone teenager, but it was even more difficult to get one for a teenager who brought an infant. A shopkeeper almost hired Hisana to maintain the cleanliness of his store, but changed his mind once he noticed young Rukia. He sent them away with finality in his tone, "The baby's cry would disturb customers."

At the end of day, Hisana had to scavenge bins on alleyways for food, where homeless cats shared their portions. The same routine repeated itself the next day and the days after that.

Walking dejectedly in the streets, she noticed some men gathering street children by force in an attempt to sell them into slavery. She knew she had to find a place to live in as soon as possible, before those relentless hands captured her. She gazed at her little sister. How many shopkeepers, poulterers, butchers, fishmongers, greengrocers, florists, pharmacists, weavers, seamstresses, and watchmakers had refused to employ her because of this infant's presence?

Hisana carried Rukia in her arms again, lulling her to sleep one last time, wrapped the infant with her one and only coat, and then gingerly laid her down on the dark Rukongai soil. "Forgive me, sister." She left in tears.

Being a teenager with no working experience, Hisana did not find a job immediately. Only after numerous quests, an old kimono maker accepted her as an assistant. This kindhearted kimono maker, however, did not live long enough to watch Hisana bloom. She passed on in mere months and her daughter took over her business.

Unlike her benevolent mother whose every behavior was overflowing with refinement, this daughter was greedy, pitiless, and coarse. Above all, she cared for her own welfare and nothing else. Some of the employees even quit their job, unwilling to put up with her unpleasantness. Hisana, however, had nowhere to go and no choice but to remain.

Years shifted into the next. One day, the kimono maker bade Hisana to deliver a kimono order to a nobleman's daughter. While looking at the younger girl, the errand girl remembered the sister she had deserted. Years had gone by since the two sisters parted. Not a day passed without remorse in Hisana's mind, and the guilt only encumbered her more today. Yet, she knew that she could not provide a decent living for Rukia, even if she managed to find her: the kimono maker refused to take in any more "freeloaders." Furthermore, the almost non-stop working hours in her employer's house—from the kimono making itself to the last detail of household chores—did not grant Hisana enough time to search for dearest Rukia.

Hisana left the client's manor with a heavy heart. Did Rukia get decent clothing all these years? Imagination was Hisana's only consolation. In dreams, she wished for Rukia's health and prosperity. In dreams, she hoped that her little sister grew up showered with love. In dreams, she bade that her darling sister would live a more fortunate life than hers. In dreams, and in dreams only, she was able to meet her long lost sister without feeling too ashamed for abandoning her.

It had been raining earlier, and the plutocrat's servants scolded her for entering the house while in such a soaking wet condition. She had no choice: she had to protect the box containing the kimono with her body since the she had no umbrella with her for the sudden downpour; otherwise, her employer would beat her with a stick for ruining the merchandise. However, this afternoon, on her way back from the manor, the rain had subsided. While watching the rainbow culminating on the riverside, Hisana saw a man squatting at the bank.

He was trying to reach a small object with the tip of his sword, but the object was stuck between the rocks was simply too distant. Looking disdainfully at the rushing water, the man heaved a sigh and waded forward. Unfortunately, the river was not kind to a stranger like him. It only took seconds for him to trip on the slippery rocks.

After visiting the river multiple times for kimono-washing, Hisana knew exactly how to deal with water current as well as to cope with rocks—jagged and slippery alike. Hence, the raven-haired girl splashed through the water to help him stand.

The way the man was falling was a tad too comical for Hisana to refrain herself from laughing: the windy weather messed up his hair that it covered his face in an untidy, seaweed-like manner, and some air got entrapped in his hakama trousers that they inflated like twin balloons encasing his legs.

'Commoners!' muttered the man in his mind, indignant of being uncouthly derided at his misfortune, but as soon as he paid further attention to her smiling face, something pierced through his heart, replacing his resentment with an unfamiliar longing.

Hisana's laughter faded away. When he took her hand and thanked her, she felt the river water was not as cold as usual. Even the sound of the lapping waves suddenly became music to her ears the moment their eyes met. Time stopped. In Soul Society, although its residents generally had longer lives than humans, time was not supposed to stop its course. Yet, right here, right now, it momentarily did.

He was a young man not far from her age, and an exquisite one on top of that. Despite his wind-induced ruffled hair, the man standing before her was as beautiful as a thousand sakura petals dancing in the wind. Feeling a surge of hot air on her cheeks, Hisana averted her gaze from the charming stranger. She instead concentrated on searching for his lost possession. "What is it that you lost, sir? Let me get it for you."

"My kenseikan. It is white ridged hair accessory made of—", but before he could finish his description, she exclaimed, "There it is!" and bent to procure it.

It was not without reason that the normally polite Hisana interrupted this man's speech: the more she heard his voice the more she longed for it. She must not grow addicted to his voice; she had to stop! He mentioned kenseikan—he was a nobleman … someone well beyond her reach.

As soon as she returned the kenseikan to its owner, she turned heel at once.

"Wait! I have not thanked you properly. I am called Kuchiki Byakuya. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"But you thanked me already, sir. And trust me; my name is not worth mentioning. Now please excuse me, for my employer is expecting me." With that, she darted as fast as her feet permitted.

A peculiar sense of loss befell upon Byakuya as the girl progressed further away. It was as if she had taken something precious from him, but he could not figure out what it was. Being an aristocrat meant that he had been to a wide range of places with different beauties in each. Fair though it would be to deem this girl beautiful, she remained not the most beautiful of all. Yet, none of the girls he met previously was able to make him skip a heartbeat like earlier, when he saw her standing in the glistening river. He wanted to chase her with shunpo, but propriety disallowed such misuse of flash steps due to the lack of reason to do so.

Byakuya used to deride—inwardly—others who were dependent to alcohol, nicotine, or even certain activities. When he came into contact with her skin, however, he realized the true meaning of addiction. Her hand was not delicate. Instead, it was rough and calloused. The hand molded with laborious toils each and every day. The hand of a true worker. The hand that resembled his own—practicing night and day to be a proficient kidō master.

Realizing his life would never be the same again, he set his feet, ready to pursue her. However, he heard a familiar voice calling, "Fourth Seat Kuchiki-kun, my apologies for disturbing you on a day off. Several Menos appeared and we are having troubles. Vice-captain as well as several seated officers were severely injured and have been put under the fourth division's care, so captain sent for you."

The voice belonged to his colleague and the man looked reluctant to trouble him while he was not wearing his Gotei 13 uniform, but he had to abide to his superior's order. Byakuya had no need for further explanation. He left for the battleground at once.

###

"What took you so long?" the kimono maker rebuked Hisana when she saw her enter from the doorway. Before the girl had her chance to reply, the grumpy woman said again, "You really are useless, sloppy, sluggish … argh, it'll take all day just to list your defects!" She glared "What are you waiting there for? Hurry up; we've still got mountains of orders!"

Hisana returned to her station obediently, preparing more dyes for the next kimono. As she mixed the ingredients, she gazed dreamily. Why did that handsome stranger have to introduce himself … now she could not help thinking how ravishing his name sounded!

The next day, Hisana grew a high fever from the previous day's dreary weather.

"Hisana," her plump employer called her with sweetest voice—too sweet it became eerie.

"You can take a break from kimono making today." She smiled so wide that it contorted the mole at the left corner of her mouth.

Hisana gulped. The last time she heard her employer say those words was the time a poor colleague of hers was fired. Now Hisana even had to do her ex-colleague's load of shibori—tie-dyeing—in addition to her original duty of katazome—stencil dyeing. "Mistress, I'm fine. I truly don't need such break."

"No, really. We're doing fine with the orders, but a friend of mine happens to need some helping hands. You should go to her today and return to your kimono dyeing routine tomorrow. This is her address." The kimono maker handed her a piece of paper.

'So I'm not fired,' Hisana exhaled in relief and set off.

On approaching her employer's friend's house, Hisana began to realize that it was too early for her to feel relieved. The location was on Rukongai's red light district. Quite a number of men were eying her as she passed. Hisana did not dare to imagine what would happen to her if this had been nighttime.

Hisana froze at the sign of the building: Yūkaku no Sō—Orchid Mansion. It was the correct address; she had re-read the paper five times. But the rows of red chōchin lanterns and koshi or latticework windows in such narrow, exclusively pedestrian street … there was no mistake: This was a double-functioned brothel and geisha parlor! The upper class geisha parlor might be solely devoted to the arts of dancing, music and tea-serving, but the middle class, and, especially, the lower class ones, usually dealt with companionship in bed, as well.

'Calm down Hisana, maybe she needs you for cleaning or laundry service! You did not do anything to make your boss send you to be a prostitute; she can simply fire you.'

With this thought, Hisana solidified her confidence and announced her arrival.

A white powdered girl opened the door for her and said, "Ah, you must be one of those hired girls for today's party. Come in, I'll call Madam."

The brothel keeper and procuress was indeed the acquaintance of Hisana's employer. She then asked one of her subordinates to prepare a tea set for them. There was only one cup on the low table when the girl brought it. "Pour me some tea!" she commanded Hisana.

Feeling peculiar why she, a guest, must do the pouring, Hisana did as she was told nevertheless.

"Twirl your wrist more gracefully like this!" she sabotaged the teapot. After her demonstration, she said, "Now do it again!"

"That'll do," she commented as Hisana poured the tea on her fifth attempt. The next thing she did was clapping her hands once and two girls came into view. "Prepare her!" she told them.

The two girls bathed Hisana, dressed her in fine silk, and applied excessive make up on her face. They even put a wig on Hisana, as her hair was too short for a tate-hyogo—a courtesan's special hairstyle. Curious to the reason, she asked the purpose of this makeover.

"You can't attend a party without proper outfit!"

"Party? But I'm here to work."

"We'll work at the party, silly! It's a big party for the whole battalion and there are only less than a hundred of us; of course we need more entertainers! Weren't you told anything?" the girl in a prissy vermillion kimono answered Hisana impatiently, fixing the hairs of the wig.

"I was told no more than that my employer's friend needed help for today."

"But didn't Madam teach you how to entertain guests?" This time, it was the other one, a slightly taller girl in bright yellow kimono, who reacted. She had been working on Hisana's rouge.

"Do you mean the tea serving earlier?" Hisana asked back, but her mind dreaded the idea of something worse.

"Yes," replied the taller of the two girls, "and all the other things she told you."

"But she didn't tell me anything apart from the tea serving."

Now the other girl protested "WHAT?! I can understand she wouldn't teach a novice to dance and play shamisen lute straightaway, but how come she didn't even give you examples of conversational topics and how to walk?! Did she not even teach you how to cover your mouth gracefully while laughing?"

Her tall companion responded, "It can't be helped, Kyoko-chan, we're running out of time." Then she turned to Hisana. "Avoid conversation whenever possible! However, when it becomes unavoidable, you must know this: a courtesan is expected to shine in the art of conversation, but not too brightly. Concentrate on the voice, rather than the content your speech, and cultivate a distinct but subdued tone! Customers like it when they outsmart wenches like us, but they need to make sure we can still follow the conversation too."

'Wenches like us?' Hisana had goosebumps all over.

Upon noticing Hisana's anxiety, the taller courtesan assured her, "Relax, it'll be just a drinking party, so you won't expected for a suikazura or anything."

"What's a suikazura?"

"It's when a patron spends his time alone in bed with a courtesan."

A tint of scarlet suffused Hisana's cheeks. However, walking demonstration soon demanded her attention.

Toes facing inward, the geisha moved across the room. "You need to move like this!"

Personally, Hisana thought the geisha's gesture somewhat resembled that of a penguin, but made sure she didn't let this thought slip from her mouth.

Thus, the courtesans and hired girls from Yūkaku no Sō—Orchid Mansion—set off to Seireitei.

###

Hisana had never been comfortable in carriages, and now she was riding in one. It wasn't motion-sickness so much as the memory of the traumatic childhood experience of being cooped up in a cramped carriage with a herd of other children all braying and crying—her little sister among them. She could remember it even now, like a disturbing performance flickering in front of her mind's eye.

In addition to the usual anxiety she suffered in carriages, Hisana now also had to contend with her fever: it made her feel as though her head was a balloon, her eyes made of cotton wool, and all her joints in dire need of greasing. She felt drained of energy, but not resolve: the fact that she had little Rukia to search for always gave her the drive required to carry on, just as it did now.

Hisana had heard that Seireitei was meant to be huge, but she had never imagined it to be this spacious. The troupe entered through the south gate, as instructed. Today was the Gotei 13's anniversary, so the gatekeeper let them in without question. The cloister was fortified by a ring of wall accessible through four massive gates wherein the main street stretched directly, by means of a series of large buildings at intervals, behind which lofty towers of white erected proudly against the all-embracing sky. Unlike the streets of Rukongai, each passage here was clean, none too narrow and flanked on both sides by labyrinthine fences topped with tiled roofs.

After passing a flight of stone steps, the courtesans proceeded to an open field where the feast was held. There, rows upon rows of long tables had been laden with sumptuous dishes. Never before had Hisana seen so much food gathered in one place.

'How fortunate these shinigami are to have such a lavish banquet! she told herself inwardly. Has Rukia-chan been well fed all these times?'

The courtesans set to work straightaway. Some, like Hisana, were assigned to tea pouring; some dealt with the sake; others carried their shamisen lutes; some filed up in a single line, preparing their sleeves and fans in dance. The rest trusted their honeyed tongues to please their prospective clients through the art of conversation.

Some of the soldiers whistled as they perceived the troupe of courtesans. Hisana felt sick. Her fever, now mixed with this new anxiety just aggravated the situation. To make the matter worse, walking geisha-style—with a far more elaborate kimono than her daily attire, high geta sandals and toes keep pointing inward—was harder than it had seemed and this tired her out. Nevertheless, she pressed on, pouring tea from one soldier's cup to another's.

One soldier, Ōmaeda Marechiko, was captivated by Hisana's graceful smile and requested her to come to his quarters. When she refused, as politely as she could, he called the procuress to arrange for their bedding instead. Obliged to pour tea for the soldiers here and there, Hisana could only steal some anxious glances at their discourse.

With his normal voice, Ōmaeda said, "I believe you dropped this" as he handed down a small pouch to the procuress. Then, in a far lower volume, he continued, "That girl in the lilac kimono over there." His head jerked toward Hisana's direction. "I want her."

Hisana held her breath. She couldn't hear his whispered words amidst the drunken singing of the soldiers, but did not miss his unmistakable gesture. Unfortunately, another soldier on a further bench called for her for more tea, so she could not learn the procuress' answer.

The pseudo-courtesan tried her best to read the middle-aged woman's lip movements, but only comprehended the words in bits and pieces, and in the end, she had to resolve to random guessing. At first, the procuress, too, turned down his request, reminding him that the contract with Gotei 13 today was not supposed to include such service and that Hisana was still a maiko, an apprentice geisha, rather than a real geisha. Later, however, the avaricious woman bowed her head down once he offered a full pouch of money for Hisana's mizuage.

The boney woman cornered Hisana and threatened her with unemployment if she dared decline.

"Do you think your mistress has any use for such a disobedient subordinate?"

The temporary maiko's eyes widened.

"And I'm sure other employers would think so too," the procuress added in the same degage tone as the one normally used for weather talk.

These words brought fear to the core of Hisana's being. The procuress did have many connections and if she were to spread a false rumor to ruin Hisana's reputation, there was no doubt that anyone would refuse to employ her. Having neither kith nor kin to aid her in times of need, how, then, would she survive?

"And don't you dare smudge the make up with your worthless tears!" the procuress instructed before locking the maiko in Ōmaeda Marechiko's quarters, smoke still puffing from her phoenix-engraved pipe.

Biting her lip, Hisana gazed at the ceiling. Looking up might not be the best way to restrain tears, but that was the only method she knew. What had she done to make her own employer sell her off like this? True, she was not the kimono maker's consanguine relative and she had been accommodated in the older woman's house for years, but she also worked hard to earn her living. Did the kimono maker despise her that much? If so, why? Didn't she obey her every command? Hadn't she done enough house cleaning, cooking, sewing, stenciling, laundering and every other task she was set to do?

'If only that butterball kimono maker would just die a miserable death, and that greedy procuress were to lose all the money that meant so much to her withered heart!'

But then, the sliver of anger that surged within her immediately died down, extinguished by a sigh. Even if her wishes were to come true, her defloration would remain inevitable. Finding no satisfactory answer, the girl's gaze roamed all over her confinement space.

The room was bigger than her six-tatami wide room in the kimono maker's house, but unlike hers, the color of the tatami in this room indicated how rarely these mats were cleaned. As was common with other soldier's quarters, the room was equipped with only staple furniture. There was a desk with an ink-stone, a water-bottle, a brush-rest and brushes, a paper-weight laden pile of papers; a wooden chest for personal storage; a lantern for night reading and a oshīre closet, the sliding door of which was slightly ajar. One corner of a folded futon mattress peeked from this through the opening.

Hisana's gaze was transfixed on the futon. She could picture that in mere minutes, a man she barely knew would take the mattress out, laid lay it out on the tatami floor. Then, just as she lay atop the futon, he would lie atop her.

Tears once again insisted on trickling from the corner of her eyes. Hisana clutched at the fabric of her kimono, just above the obibelt, yet it did nothing to soothe the acute pain that stabbed at her heart. This man, Ōmaeda Marechiko was one of the most grotesque figures that she met at the party … so ugly that even his younger brother, Ōmaeda Marechiyo, who was sitting next to him, was not nearly as unsightly. Hisana sighed. 'Maybe it's better this way. I'll be able to forget him soon and get on with my life. If he were someone more attractive like the one I met yesterday, I'll find it difficult to let him go.'

Again, the figure of the jet-haired man who had been searching for his kenseikan in the river appeared in her mind. He was not meant for her; she knew that. Rukia would be highly unlikely to know about her sister's existence, an infant as she had been when they had parted. Her employer would be pleased to find her dead—no freeloader in her house anymore. Her colleagues certainly could manage without her. No one would miss her if she were to disappear from Soul Society. Her feverish body temperature was rising by the second anyway…

The next moment, the raven-haired girl was considering ending her own life. Of course, considering that she had not come from a samurai family meant that she did not carry a kaiken dagger in her obi.

When she was thinking with eyes closed, whether she ought to strangle her neck with her kumi-himo cord or bite her tongue, she heard the fusuma door slid open.

'Stupid Hisana! Why couldn't you do it earlier? It's too late now; he'd surely stop you!'Hisana couldn't help shivering; Ōmaeda Marechiko must be approaching.

Heartbeat racing, she opened her eyes. Soon Hisana's thoughts were filled with other concerns: No malodorous smell of Ōmaeda Marechiko filled the room since the figure behind the door was none other than the man of her dreams. 'Why does the son of such a distinguished family serve in the military?' she wondered upon perceiving his uniform. Was her fever so severe as to induce a delusion?

The newly arrived man was equally astounded to see her there and, for a moment, the both of them ceased to breathe.

"Kuchiki-sama." The phrase had left her mouth before she realized it.

Nevertheless, her timid voice was all he needed to spur his brain into working again. Regaining his composure, young Byakuya answered, "I am here to inform you that Ōmaeda Marechiko has been apprehended for breaking military rule: He's…" He stopped mid-sentence. Judging from the awkward look in his eyes, Hisana deduced that this must refer to Ōmaeda's attempt to hire a prostitute while still on duty. The shinigami moved on. "In any case, you are free to go. As his fellow shinigami, I apologize for any inconvenience that he has caused."

'This is too good to be true,' thought Hisana. Her mind became heavy. Her whole body became powerless with dizziness. Her vision blurred. The high fever overtook her as it plunged her into the realm of unconsciousness.

###

The next moment Hisana opened her eyes, she was lying in a large room lined with many white beds. She rose, but her sudden movement made pain flare inside her head from ear to ear. She let out a soft groan and held the upper part of her skull.

"Just lie down," she heard a gentle voice say.

Hisana obeyed, letting the pillow absorb the weight of her head. As she did so, the same voice said again, "You are in the fourth division infirmary."

'How many divisions are there? Seireiteiisvery vast, after all … I suppose there must be at least six, from the number on Byakuya-sama's back.'

Slowly, she turned to see who was speaking, and noticed a man with amiable smile carrying a glass of water and some medicine. "You have a terrible fever. Here, take this."

"Thank you." Hisana took the medicine.

"Ah, Kuchiki-san!" The man who gave her the medicine greeted an approaching figure and she nearly choked on her water.

Hisana had no courage to look at Byakuya's face; instead, she stared at her blanket and stole a few occasional glances at his feet. The fourth division officer blabbed about how fortunate it was that Byakuya had brought her to the infirmary before her fever became any worse, to which Byakuya responded with a non-committal grunt.

Hisana, meanwhile, thought the fact that he had brought her here meant that he probably had carried her in his arms—bride-style—or it could be on his back, but whichever it had been… She blushed at once, causing the fourth division officer to worry and recheck her temperature. 'How unfair of me!' she thought as she felt the tingling sensation at the mere notion that Byakuya had touched her, but felt nothing out of the ordinary when this fourth division officer placed his palm on her forehead.

"I'll get some more medicine, just for precaution." The healer darted off before Hisana could object, leaving the patient with the sixth division officer alone.

Hisana thanked Byakuya and stayed quiet afterwards.

'What if he thinks I look ridiculous in this courtesan make-up? What if he thinks I am a real prostitute? What am I supposed to say in times like this?'

She kept her gaze low, as well, afraid more eye contact would cause her face flush again. Little did she know that behind his stern, unfazed expression, he was struggling to keep his calm; his heart beat like the drum of war owing to her presence.

But after a moment or so, it was Byakuya who broke the awkward silence that had been presiding over them, "Would you mind telling me your name this time?"

'Why do his words have to sound this pleasing?'

"Hisana." Still breathless from the intoxication of hearing his voice, she almost bit her tongue while pronouncing such a simple word.

Byakuya paused, savoring each syllable Hisana spoke in the same way that he might linger on a fine delicacy, tasting its sweetness until it faded, before continuing "Your surname?"

This was the one subject that could flip her demureness into savagery. Even the heir of the noble Kuchiki house was forced to bear witness of how inexorable a girl's mild voice could become. The frigidity of her tone reverted spring back to winter. "I have none."

"Are you an orphan?" A sense of alarm surged within his voice. Her manner of speech reminded him of his grandfather when offended, be it by a servant's trivial words or by a fellow aristocrat's remark. Yet, accustomed to interaction with cruder individuals in her daily life, she knew none of this.

"I don't know about my parents' current wellbeing and whereabouts, nor am I interested in finding out." Hisana bit her lower lip. 'I willneverforgive my parents for selling Rukia-chan and me. If Byakuya-sama finds this hateful … that is how it must be.'

However, the questions of how or why never came out of Byakuya's mouth. Instead, he said, "Your troupe left nearly two hours ago when the party was over. Allow me to escort you home."

"No, please don't!" pleaded Hisana, dreading how her employer might react upon seeing her with such a man—and not just any man, but a shinigami, and an aristocrat. In a hesitated stammer, she added, "I-it would be…" she drew her breath before continuing, "…inconvenient."

As a man of status, the Kuchiki heir found no trouble in guessing what the girl was alluding. "I shall arrange a female escort for you then."

"No, that is not necessary." The raven-haired girl rose from the bed, jumped around and said, "I'm perfectly fine!" whereas in reality every movement sent her head spinning.

That was not all. Her tate-hyogo wig toppled in the air before falling next to her feet. Hisana blushed—she should have remembered that a geisha's hairdo was not cut for such a lively movement.

Retrieving the fallen wig and handing it back to its wearer, the corners of Byakuya's mouth curled upwards slightly. In spite of her meek appearance, this girl was quite stubborn and pretended to be strong—just like him.

"Very well, but take the medicine Aoyama-san brings you, at least," the sixth division shinigami replied as the fourth division one came into view with yet another dose of medicine.

"Yes, sir." The answer came a bit too blithely for a sick person. Realizing how much she endeavored to ease his mind, he smiled.

The sun had long ago sunk below the horizon when she left the south gate of Seireitei. Activating Bakudō No. 26: Kyokko, which hid its caster's presence and reiatsu from sight by a curved light, Byakuya tailed her from afar to ensure she came home safe and sound.

Hisana's journey home passed uneventfully. When she disappeared into the kimono-maker's house unharmed, Byakuya decided to turn to leave. However, a booming yell of "YOU'RE LATE, LOWLIFE!" made him instantly halted his step.

A distinct frown formed on the sixth division shinigami's face at the yell. He remained a while, resolving to find out just what Hisana had to contend with. Fortunately for him, owing to the acrid smell of the dyeing wax, the kimono maker left her windows open for most of the time. It was through this window that he espied the event unfold: A rotund woman who could only the mistress of the house was grabbing Hisana by the hair, shouting with her croaky voice, "Do you have any idea how much work you've missed because of your tardiness, huh?!"

Watching how the kimono maker treated Hisana, he wondered what made her stay with such a despicable pig. She even proceeded to slap Hisana's cheek before imperiously ordering her, "Get changed quickly! That's a rented kimono; don't you dare soil it! Then clean the house!"

Hisana's subservient reply piqued the young Kuchiki with both pity and resentment. Didn't she deserve a rest, especially with such a high fever? He could see the hapless girl walking into another room, undoubtedly to get back to her working attire, and yet Hisana's harsh mistress continued to berate her.

It came across his mind to storm into the house and knock the kimono maker hard enough to lose her front teeth. But then, what? What next? Wouldn't she put the blame on Hisana instead? Wouldn't this turn of event make Hisana's life more difficult than it had already been?

Clenching his fists, Byakuya vowed to himself: One day, he would be the one to set her free from slavery; from wretchedness; from abuse; from her loveless life…

Set her free?

Wasn't that just an excuse? As of late, Aunt Kumiko and Aunt Fuyumi had been nagging him with questions of marriage. The latter, in particular, was eager to match him with her distant relative-in-law.

"Kobayashi Rika is graceful and well-bred, not to mention she comes from an august lineage overshadowed only by the four Noble Houses," Byakuya recalled one of them prattling. She also showed him the girl's picture, on which Byakuya commented—vaguely, for lack of reason to turn down such an abrupt request—"She is not my type."

His aunts did not give up, however. The following week, they presented him with dozens of pictures of nubile aristocratic girls. Worse still, they made sure they did so in the presence of Kuchiki Ginrei, Byakuya's grandfather and current head of the family.

"With his parents gone, Byakuya-kun is the sole heir of the Kuchiki clan. Should we not be doing all we can to ensure the continuation of the line?" they probed. The wizened man did not express any disapproval. Under his grandfather's austere gaze, Byakuya found no excuse not to look at those pictures.

As much as he was sure that his aunts had worked hard in selecting the candidates for his wife-to-be, he was doubly certain that none of the females featured in the pictures were attractive enough to convince him to tie the connubial knot. The girls were all exquisite in appearance and possessed of many unique talents, making them undeniably the choicest among the chosen ladies of the manor. But still … to spend the rest of his life with a stranger…?

On the other hand, it was not hard to figure out whose smile he wanted greeting him each time he came home. Ever since his first encounter with Hisana in the river the other day, he had been wondering what it would be like to stroke her silky hair and caress her delicate lips. The absence of her voice had made his life an empty shell.

Of all the beauteous girls he had ever beheld, surely Hisana was not the most so. Nor did she possess an exceptional reiatsu, or any other qualities that might recommend her as a soldier. Intellect and wealth were not her traits either. In fact, there was no specific reason to favor her over the rest.

And yet, he could not deny feeling inexplicably, ridiculously happy whenever she was nearby. In spite of the absence of blue blood in her veins, she outshone those who had it. Her quality was not her birthright—it had been forged in the furnace of daily life and beaten into shape on the anvil of her hardships. Somehow, out of that harsh and unforgiving cocoon, a resplendent butterfly had emerged.

This reminded him of himself. Most people assumed that any Kuchiki heir was born a prodigy. They took his competence with kidō for granted, never caring how hard he had to practice to live up to their expectations. After all, the Kuchiki clan was one of the most prominent noble families: if word got around that the heir was a drop-out the others would move in like vultures. But in truth, he was by no means a paragon of the Kuchiki clan: had never been and never would be.

People younger than him, like Ichimaru Gin and Sarugaki Hiyori, had become vice-captains before he had even entered the academy. He had never once beaten Shihouin Yoruichi at flash-stepping either. There were so many things he could not accomplish because he was merely a mediocre in the wrong place, the wrong upbringing and the wrong home.

He used to wonder whether it would have been better had he not been born to the noble house of Kuchiki—rather to some family of commoners in Rukongai. That way, the Kuchikis could have had the genius heir they wanted … and Byakuya could have had the life he wanted, unhindered by the restrictions of class and nobility which so thoroughly bound him now. But there was no denying that he might just be treated like the Hisana he saw today.

She experienced what might be his. She was his missing part. He knew it. In his head, it sounded perfectly ridiculous: he had known her but a few days, after all…

'Is this so-called 'destiny'?'

Young as he was, as a Kuchiki, Byakuya realized that it would be foolish in the extreme to break through the door right now and carry off his beloved—not to mention cruel to Hisana. And even if he were to do that, what would he do next? No member of the Kuchiki family would admit her in the mansion as his consort. In order to wed the woman, he would first have to win prestige enough to influence his grandfather's iron will. It would be difficult enough just to bend Kuchiki Ginrei's heart to allow the union between the Kuchiki heir and a plebeian woman. Byakuya cringed at the thought of how Ginrei would react to the news that the commoner he intended to marry was also a part-time courtesan.

Fists clenched, the jet-haired young shinigami turned to leave.