Disaffected, a Bleach fan fiction
Lord Byakuya Kuchiki was always disaffected. His face, pale as the papers he worked on in his lavish study all day while sitting in a plush red velvet armchair, was as unchanging as a mask. It always wore this apathetic, cold look, a nearly omnipresent almost-scowl, that was almost worse than outright anger. And never once, in the history of those who associated with him, had he allowed his thin-lipped, elegant mouth to enter into any form that could be mistaken for a smile. His hair was as ordered as his face. The young nobleman pulled it back into a ponytail which flowed like black oil past the hair pulled into form on his scalp by white, bone-like semitubes. His eyes were like marbles, showing nothing but the glass stare of a preserved animal. The man might as well consult a taxonomist for his regular beauty appointments.
He spent his days thus, taking meals in the study. Punctually, every five o'clock in the evening he would leave his study behind for the wooden-walled practice hall, where he drew the sword at his side and trained. Sometimes he would just sit there and meditate. His position at the head of the noble Kuchiki family would not allow any less than perfection on his part. Neither his body nor his mind could be allowed to fall into decadence.
Since childhood, voices had lectured him constantly. There was never much love in the repertoire they presented to him. He learned of economics, profit and tax, budget and market flux, production and consumption, distribution and transport, along with the art of the sword. He was taught to think, prodded around like a circus animal if he did not satisfy the creativity and intellect that the stern voices told him were necessary to be the Kuchiki heir. Still, he was a child, and needed some time for play. Sometimes an outrageous neighbor visited him, who taught him of freedom, fun, and happiness. Sometimes he acted out in heated anger, especially as his glands flooded him with hormones regulating his emotions as steadily as a ship in a hurricane. Once he reached adulthood, though, and the hormones stabilized, he returned to the stoic, cold child he had always been. And so he was always now.
The Kuchiki were in charge of water purification. Their plants took in the sewage from the slum district, the Rukongai, and turned out pure water for the residents to enjoy. For this task, the peasants paid heavy prices each year, sometimes paid in cash and other times spent working on the Kuchiki family's farms. These fed the Seireitei, where the shinigami who ruled the afterlife with brutal martial law. Unfortunately, there had recently been something of a decrease in crop productivity due to parasites that ate away at half of the yield, meaning there was less profit and even a danger of the family having to go into debt. Byakuya could not imagine this ultimate shame, having to rely on others for support, ever occurring to the proud Kuchiki family, and most certainly not under his leadership. There was a new product that the family had created that would purify the water much more cheaply. On investigation, the Research and Development Department of the shinigami military force, the Gotei Thirteen, had concluded that the substance could have detrimental health effects. Byakuya had weighed this against his family's shame, and signed the paper that put the new measure into action.
Now the backlash was hitting. After numerous deaths in the slums, some clever fool discovered that they had begun after the water began to have a slight, almond aftertaste. There had been riots, talk of rebellion among the peasants. Byakuya, also captain of the Gotei Thirteen's Sixth Company, had requested of his superiors that he be allowed to solve the problem. With his typical grace, he committed himself to it wholeheartedly.
In the slum, he and his men attacked the protesters. The sword-weilding shinigami cut down the peasants armed with agricultural tools. Shovels made of crude iron were cut in half by the curving blades, and blood stained the dusty ground. Byakuya strode through the mass of the enemy, disaffected as ever, hacking left and right with his sword, severing limbs and heads. His pure white cloak was covered with red stains and liquid smears. A thin man, ribs protruding from his raggedy clothing, attacked with a staff. He was cut down by the cold noble. A boy threw a rock, screaming about his sister, who had been killed by the water poisoning. Byakuya vanished, appearing behind the boy. The boy, young with wavy blond hair dirty from sleeping in mud every day of his life was cut in half by a man who had never known what dirt was.
All of the rioters lay dead upon the ground. Byakuya motioned with a delicate hand movement that his soldiers should stop. The family of the slain ran to the battlefield to collapse next to their loved ones with screams of agonized despair at life extinguished forever. There were more frantic screams coming from one are, however. Two Sixth Company soldiers were ripping the clothing off a woman. Byakuya was next to them in a fraction of a second, rending their bodies into pieces with measured scorn. He would allow no dishonor upon his family or his company, no matter who sought to bring it.
He sheathed his blade, and gazed down at the woman. A strand of hair black as his own hung over the bridge of her nose and curled around behind her head. She was beautiful in a sort of starved way.
She followed him back to his house. He would have turned her away, but it was beneath him to speak to someone of her status. So she slept behind the house, living off of any scraps the sympathetic kitchen staff fed to her. Byakuya heard of her presence from the staff, but never cared to look out at her.
One day, Byakuya realized with a start that she had been offered a job as a maid. He now saw her every day at noon, when she poured his tea for him. It always had a sweet tang, somewhat overly happy but peaceful as well. It was new, not like what he had eaten before. An inquiry with the head of the kitchen yielded, yes, she had been making the tea. Was there a problem with it, sir? At which point Byakuya retreated after stating that it was absolutely fine, musing over a strange new feeling deep in his gut. A sort of tingling, a warm feeling. That was the day he spoke to her for the first time.
"I like the tea you make."
She blushed and bowed low, then ran out of the room. The next day he spoke with her a little longer. They began to speak of subjects besides tea: politics, money, hobbies, friends. She was shocked when he stated casually that he had none. There came a time when he realized that he loved her.
They were married in the spring, when the cherry blossoms were blooming. No longer disaffected, Byakuya walked his mansion with a small smile, and a compliment. He loved flowers, not only for their elegance but for the happiness they gave him. Yes, it was truly something new, this happiness. Something he had never known before. Satisfaction, yes. But other than that he had been a hollow man. He learned to care, to savor every moment of life as though it were a gift, a moment he could use to achieve some good in the world.
She died years later, in autumn. He cut down the cherry trees, pulled the blinds over his windows, and disappeared into his bed for weeks. Finally, a servant knocked on his door.
"Sir? Research and Development has completed the analysis of your wife's death, sir." Byakuya sat up, pushing away the silk sheets. He walked to the servant on shaky, quivering legs, and grabbed the man by the shoulders.
"Yes? Why? Why did she die?"
"Water poisoning, sir. A residual effect from drinking a toxin long ago."
Byakuya collapsed in despair.