Chapter 2: Interventions of a Fool

In Seireitei, putting a deceased female's portrait in the family compound was unheard of.

Be it a single portrait or a family portrait, as soon as she passed on, every form of artwork that even remotely represented her in any way had to be cast away, to be buried along with her decomposing corpse as a sign for her to take her leave, to no longer linger in her in-laws' compound or trouble her relatives both physically and spiritually.

Kurosaki Masaki was the only exception to that case.

After her untimely demise, her own husband, the then head of the Kurosaki Clan, Kurosaki Isshin fought and argued vehemently with the family elders to keep her portrait and his abrupt decision to place her in the Kurosaki library without the consent of the elders was considered a scandal.

Infinite rows of bookshelves filled with musty, worn-out old scrolls dedicated to the art of war and flawless weaponry that were kept under constant care by the servants were amongst the basic necessities that were considered indispensable in the grand Kurosaki household.

Since their ancestors' humble beginning as peasants or lesser warriors to their current position as the leading clan in Northern, Eastern and Western Seireitei, said items have been passed down as legacy, a living testament to how the Kurosaki men have dedicated their entire living existence for generations and generations into perfecting their ingenious art of war.

Spring came and winter passed, gradually the extensive collection began to accumulate into an enormous hoard of treasure that continued to be housed in the present day Kurosaki library.

It was even rumored that hidden battle techniques and war tactics that were lost since the beginning to time could be found within these scrolls. It was therefore, no mystery as to why the Kurosaki library was considered by their descendants as a sacred place that must never be tainted in any form.

It was their pride and joy.

Placing a woman's portrait directly in the east where the Kurosaki clan itself derived from, was a blow to the Kurosaki elders' ego.

For years, the old, bearded Kurosaki elders pleaded their case.

Some used force with undisguised death threats; others had even humiliated themselves by publicly kowtowing to Isshin during the family meetings, pleading him to take away that hideous picture that tainted the presence of the Kurosaki ancestors.

Nothing swayed the judgment of the Kurosaki Isshin. The man had the will of the mountains and was as stubborn as an ox. He was even prepared to fight to the very bitter end or perish along with the elders just to keep the portrait of his beloved hanging within the household. He was adamant in keeping it.

To him, it was the last thing he had of his beloved; he needed it to remind himself that she once truly existed in his life and not simply a figment of his own imagination that he conjured. It was testament of his love for his wife; their love was beyond the boundaries of age-old traditions and silly superstitions.

All his courageous acts of defiance were done in the name of love.

XXXX

As the eldest and only son of both Kurosaki Isshin and Kurosaki Masaki, Ichigo never doubted the reason behind his otou-san's decision to hang the picture.

Kurosaki men boasted both of their prowess in battles and their stubbornness in admitting defeat. It was a deadly combination in the grounds of life and death. However, it was another matter entirely in everyday life.

For months since Isshin's sudden abdication and his own ascension as the new head of the family, the Kurosaki elders had flooded him with an unlimited supply of pleas to remove the painting. With a recently installed clan leader, the elders had either underestimated Ichigo's stubbornness or were simply too busy in keeping up with their own Kurosaki trait. It was annoying to say the least. Every time he came back from a short break, there would be piles of letters concerning the said matter stacked up neatly on his worktable.

Like his father, he never placed his consent on the matter. He imagined that the elders to be pretty angry, but it didn't bother him- for now. Should however any of the foolish elder utter so much as a death threat behind his back, Kurosaki Ichigo would not hesitate to strike back and execute said elder publicly. There was after all a limit to his patience and he pitied the idiotic fool who would dare to openly challenge him and test his limit. After all, all of those who opposed him are obstacles, like sprouting weeds in a flower bed; they too must be weeded out before they become powerful enough to pose as a threat to his rule.

Those who defy me shall suffer a fate worse than death itself; but those who join me shall have a limitless future. That was the principle held and honoured by Kurosaki Ichigo.

XXXX

The flickering flame of a single candle lit on a dying candle illuminated his surroundings. Outside the chilly December winter frost howled on threatening to kill the dying flame, but still it lit on. Droplets of wax dripped, sliding down the candle stump before going to the base of the candle holder.

With the waning light, it was still possible for mortal eyes to make out the shape of several bottles of drained sake sprawled carelessly over the table. Leaning heavily on his elbows, Ichigo calmly took another sake bottle from the table. His face impassive and emotionless, it was only judging by the amount of empty bottles would you believe that this was the man who single-handedly drowned down all the sake.

Kurosaki Ichigo was undeniably an expert at handling sake. It would however make sense since he had been practicing and perfecting the art ever since his kaa-chan died. His reason for drinking was universal with all the other heavy drinkers in the world.

To rid themselves of the unexplained turmoil waging inside of them.

He himself drank to forget, to numb the guilt, to change the inward pain into some other form of pain that could be presented to him in the physical world. Be it a terrible hangover the day after tomorrow, or the painful wounds littered on his body after a long sparring; despite the pain and scars, he could always find himself repeating the same actions over and over again.

Uryu called him a hopeless fool intent on living in the past.

He never paid heed and chose to simply shrug the comment off. In his personal opinion, no one had the right to criticize him, to judge him, no one.

Not even the crazy old goat chin, because no one understood his pain and grief; his sorrow and guilt.

No one had a single inkling as to how it felt to be Kurosaki Ichigo.

Bringing the bottle close to his ears, he absentmindedly shook the bottle. An intoxicated smirk crept its way onto his lips when he heard the satisfying sound of liquid chugging in the bottle. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the lid intent on filling his hollow form with more alcohol.

Lazily, he raised the bottle in his fist towards the portrait of the smiling portrait of the auburn haired lady hung high on the lavender-coloured wall.

"This is for you, kaa-chan," he mumbled as he brought the bottle up to eye-level, as if he was giving a mock salute to his mother.

Smirking, he brought it to his lips before downing a good gulp of the fiery liquid. Once again, he found himself sitting in his usual haunt, drinking or rather devouring sake while staring at his mother's portrait.

There was so much he wanted to tell her, but instead of flesh and blood, she was simply substituted with paper and ink. Paper and ink did nothing to justify her beauty, kindness, wisdom and passion.

He chuckled bitterly, running his left hand through his mane of tousled orange hair before using his right hand to swipe away the remaining empty sake bottles that lay stationary on top of the table.

The porcelain bottles broke with a loud clang as their fragile bodies came in contact with the hard floor. Ichigo didn't even wince from the sound. His mind was already too far gone to pay attention to such trivial things like broken glassware.

His kaa-chan would have been appalled to see her then innocent and naive son become the cold-blooded murderer he is today. In a way, he was thankful for him being the one ending her life, at least that way she wouldn't have to suffer and witness her son's ultimate transformation into a heartless monster who wagered own human lives.

He was no longer the carefree boy who spent his childhood chasing dragonflies and butterflies with his kaa-chan, no longer the scared child who hid behind his mother every time he became afraid.

That child had already gone and replaced itself with the emotionless murderer standing with his straight posture and black katana held firmly within grasp; the notorious Ryoka of Seireitei who seated himself on the throne of the King through power and intimidation; the Shinigami. The only thing they both shared today was their name and memories.

Nothing else exists beyond that point. Ichigo was quite certain of that.

His mother loved the innocent, cheerful boy he was, not the conscienceless murderer he is now. He opened his mouth only to drown in more alcohol into his body. His father's advice echoed throughout his vacant mind as how a scream of pure terror haunted the lonely nights.

It's not your fault, Ichigo. You should be proud and thankful; the only woman I ever loved sacrificed herself to save yours. Masaki was a mother through and through. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was her fate.

XXXX

He snorted. It didn't change anything. He was still the insolent son who killed his own kaa-chan, the one who stole the sole existence of happiness in his family. He deserved nothing less than hate, fear and contempt from mortals alike for spilling her blood.

He groaned when he realized that the bottle was once again emptied, worsened when realization dawned upon him that it was his last bottle. He huffed in annoyance. The nearest hoard of sake was located in the grand hall, where his wedding banquet was currently taking place. Going there to take more sake, would simply lead him to meet up with all his visitors, which was the reason why he locked himself in the library.

He was required to have a certain degree of patience, wit and etiquette when dealing with his annoying bunch of guests. He was in no mood to socialize. With that said, not even Uryu can change his mind now.

He briefly thought of calling it a night and retreat to his personal studies. Even though the study room was cold and lacked a good bed, there was at least still a comfortable armchair present. That was slightly better than the wooden chair he was sitting on.

He was quite content with the idea of himself having some privacy. With his bride currently occupying his bedroom, the bedroom could no longer serve the purpose now. He sighed. Looks like he had better get used to sleep in his studies.

Slowly easing his frozen limbs to stand up, he lazily stretched and gave out a sleepy yawn. The idea of a soft armchair with heavy fur blankets by the warm cackling fire had never been more appealing.

XXXX

"My, my is it just me or did Kurosaki-san purposely decided to skip his own wedding banquet? Imagine his otou-san's sad face when he found out that his only son was too shy to be present during his own wedding banquet. Oh, my dear friend, Isshin what past sins has he committed to deserve this ungrateful son in his life? How long must he wait before he could finally hear the footsteps of tiny Kurosakis wandering around the family compound?" drawled a lazy voice behind him ending with a highly exaggerated sigh at the end of his lament.

Ichigo's blood ran cold and visibly stiffened as his hands itched towards his black katana which was usually strapped around his waist. He mentally let out a string of curses when he felt nothing but cold air. He must have left it in his study room. He scowled.

"Getaboshi," he growled. Great he couldn't even skip his wedding banquet in peace, someone or rather a certain 'merely honest, handsome and perverted businessman' who could always show up in the time when their presence was not needed just to annoy the hell out of you, just had to make a surprise visit and throw his other plans for the night out of the nearest window.

Urahara Kisuke's ten year absence was definitely not missed by Ichigo.

Ichigo gritted his teeth before turning around to face Urahara. The infamous scowl firmly in place, he prayed to every entity there is that he was simply hearing things or merely suffering from the after-effects of alcohol consummation.

No such lucks.

It only took him one look to take in Urahara's messy blond hair, his horrendously stripped bucket hat, his dark green pants with matching dark green shirt and a dark greyish-green coat, his walking cane and his notorious wooden sandals, to confirm Ichigo's worst fear.

Urahara Kisuke was back in his life, and whenever that happened, it meant that something drastic is going to happen because whenever Urahara decided to make a surprise appearance in his life, Ichigo would always get the worst out of all the troubles Urahara dragged along during his short visits.

Ichigo sighed. This time would be no exception.

Wearingly massaging his throbbing temple, he could almost swore he saw Urahara was smirking underneath his hat. He tried reining his annoyance but to no avail. His patience was running thin, but he still managed to grit out the next few sentences without choking in anger and annoyance.

"What do you want, getaboshi?" he asked his voice loud but controlled with a tone of weariness that was simply too old for a person his age.

Urahara took note of it but did not push the matter any further. Ichigo was growing too old for him to lecture any more, even if he were to give out such advices; he sincerely doubted that the boy would listen.

The boy was hell-bent on punishing himself on the sins that he didn't commit. Sometimes he wondered what drove the poor boy to want to prove that he was guilty of murdering his own kaa-chan so badly.

"Now, now, Kurosaki-san. Is that how you greet your tutor and mentor? To think that I wasted my entire lifetime into teaching you and this is all the payment I get. So cruel," he said in mock hurt while dabbing his fake tears dramatically with a handkerchief he seemed to have pulled out from thin air.

Ichigo didn't know whether to be disgusted or amused by his antics and mentally resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really he should have been more realistic when he thought that ten years of absence was going to make Urahara Kisuke a changed man.

"If you call training me for ten days a lifetime then that would have undoubtedly qualified you as my mentor," Ichigo snorted.

"Touché," said Urahara, who hoisted the wooden cane upwards to prod at the broken porcelain fragments littered on the floor with their edges sharp enough to draw blood. "I see you're still the same hopeless drunkard you were ten years ago," commented Urahara with his slight frown overshadowed by his hat.

"I see you're still the meddling fool who likes to stick his nose into other people's business. I guess nothing really changed," shot back Ichigo, flustered that Urahara would use the degrading term of 'drunkard' to describe him. Despite his shortcomings, Ichigo still considered and held Urahara as a mentor or at least acquaintance at some point in his life. He thought that Urahara knew him better than to call him names.

"No, Kurosaki-san. A lot of things have changed since my departure. Very drastically too, I might add. For starters, you've become smarter," he rambled on while taking a seat on the wooden chair in front of Ichigo.

Ichigo raised a suspicious eyebrow. Just where did Urahara intend to take the conversation? Taking Ichigo's silence as a sign to continue, he rambled on adding in outrageous hand gestures as he proceeded with his conversation, "Who knew the Kuchikis would try to create a scene at the wedding? Imagine the terrible horror I saw when I noticed that Kuchiki-san, excuse me, I meant Kurosaki-san's white wedding kimono. It was as if she was attending a funeral. I could almost hear the scandalous rumours that would be spreading around Seireitei for years to come. Kuchiki strikes a blow with funeral kimono. What a devastating blow to Kurosaki pride! But then, the miracle of the century, the intended groom suddenly changed into a midnight black robe. What a turn of events! Spectacular! Astound-"

Suffering from earache caused by the annoying shrieking of Urahara while he was rambling on, Ichigo was quick to put an end to his torture by aiming a hard fist towards Urahara's face. To his disappointment, the fist simply fitted right into Urahara's outstretched palm. A flicker of annoyance could be seen in Urahara's pale blue orbs but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

"No need to get physically violent, Kurosaki-san. All I wanted to do was to ask how you knew beforehand that the Kuchikis would send their demure princess in a white funeral kimono," said Urahara in a calm voice as he loosened his grip on Ichigo's fist.

Ichigo glared daggers at his source of annoyance. Almost willing to surrender his last shred of control and pummel the poor man into a pulp of unrecognizable lump on the floor, it would have been so satisfying to hear the bones of said man crushing. Yet, he held on to his anger and chose to continue the conversation; curiosity getting the better of him as he found himself wondering once again where Urahara intended on taking their talk.

"I'm surprised that you didn't know the answer to your question. I thought you were aware that the Ishidas were still remaining under the Kurosaki clan's servitude," he answered with his gaze focused solely on the pale blue orbs of the man sitting opposite him.

"I see. So was it Ishida-san's orders to poison and slaughter the four thousand villagers of Kochochi during the siege of Western Seireitei!" Urahara practically shouted. All hints of his previous cheerfulness and jovialness gone, the look he was giving Ichigo now was a look of hatred. If looks could kill, Ichigo was fairly sure he would be six feet under by now. He was slightly taken aback by the sudden change in tones but stood his ground. He steeled his face into showing no emotions. Giving your audience the satisfaction of seeing you surprised was not very becoming for the future ruler of a united Seireitei.

Inwardly, he frowned. The gears in his mind started turning. Was that why Urahara wanted to talk to him? To question him on the events that had transpired during the siege? Somehow he had a feeling it wasn't just that.

Sighing, Ichigo ran a hand through his orange mane before reply in the coldest tone he could muster. "It wasn't my decision to make, Urahara-san. I didn't issue the command. Ishida and I were still in Karakura when that happened. "

"Then, tell me who in the world has the power to order your men while you're away if you didn't place the responsibility of commanding the army on him!" came Urahara's biting remark with rage visible through his pale blue orbs.

"Jourin Shiaka took charge in coordinating the war movements in an act of emergency. General Toshu had fallen during the first siege. It was protocol. I was unaware of Toshu's death until the messenger came bringing the news of poisoning. You of all people should know of my immense dislike of cowardice. I would never resort to poison," answered Ichigo.

Urahara chuckled bitterly. "Is that so? How do I know that your words are true, Kurosaki-san? Things change overtime, people change overtime and ten years is a long time," came the cold and distant reply from the other occupant of the otherwise empty room.

Ichigo lifted his gaze and focused it directly into Urahara's pale blue orbs, willing him to see the honesty, the truth and the genuine remorse he felt for the villagers. "You just have to trust me then, getaboshi," he answered firmly.

Snorting in amusement, Urahara gradually regained his previous jovialness as the hard glint in his eyes softened. He tore his eyes away from Ichigo's but not before throwing a glance past his shoulders towards the smiling portrait of Masaki.

"You are such a hard person to understand, Kurosaki-san. I pity your wife," said Urahara in a somewhat dejected manner. "To say that you are innocent is highly unlikely, and yet you display such truth and honour for a murderer. What exactly are you Kurosaki Ichigo?"

I ask myself the same question every day.

"What is the true purpose of your visit, getaboshi? You were never the kind to drop by for a casual visit," inquired Ichigo.

"Such distrust and doubt you place upon me, Kurosaki-san. Couldn't I just visit you and your family for the simple reason for missing your presence? Ten years is, after all a rather long time. Maybe I've changed during the past decade," countered Urahara in an amused tone.

Ichigo smirked. The beaming moonlight passing through the open window streamed in accenting his brazen arrogance as he answered with surprising ease. "Knowing you, getaboshi. I'll say change just might be the only impossibility for you."

"Very well then, Kurosaki-san. I see you're still as impatient as you were, as always straight to the point. Now without further ado, allow me to show you the light. Have you ever wondered why Toshu had fallen so easily, almost surreally during the first siege?" asked Urahara in a highly amused tone, as if he was flaunting some hidden information that was only to him and shrouded from the rest of the world.

Ichigo kept silent, recalling the terrible news report that was brought forth fresh from the battlefield two months ago. He drew in a sharp sigh and wearingly shut his eyes; it was as if in that split second he himself was transported onto the battlefield, feeling the pain and adrenaline of his generals and soldiers.

Every shout and scream of terror was amplified in his ears; every tear of flesh was felt and cursed.

He remembered every single detail recorded within the reports and recited the outcomes that were still fresh in his mind.

"The report stated that the entire battalion was massacred by means of poison. Though it remained unclear the culprit behind the misdeed, the action had spurred General Jourin into doing the same with the villagers of Kochochi.," quoted Ichigo, his honey amber orbs focused solely upon the red carpet he stood on.

"False information, my dear Kurosaki-san," drawled Urahara lazily, his face hidden from view by his hat. His fathomless expression angered and annoyed Ichigo.

No man, not even Ishida Uryu had ever doubted his accounts of battle report.

He memorizes every single in-depth detail offered and contained. He could remember every tactic used, every general he commanded and this uncouth bastard that had suddenly deem it right to make a sudden appearance after a decade of absence doubted his words.

Urahara had no right in doing so. Ichigo dreamt of the day he could hack him into an unrecognizable pulp of bloody goo on the floor.

As if hearing his thoughts, Urahara gave a loud yawn and warily rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Kurosaki-san, killing me now will do you no good in uncovering the truth. Should I wait for your anger to simmer before I continue? Unlike someone I know, I happen to have a lot of time on my hands. In the meantime, feel free to run into your wife's bosom and sob about how the terrible Uncle Urahara had bullied you."

Ichigo scowled and mentally conjured up horrendous methods to kill the annoying man before him. He could picture himself stabbing the getaboshi with Zangetsu over and over again, a maniacal laughter on his lips as he watched the man beg and grovel for mercy.

"Tell me, Kurosaki-san. Don't you find it suspicious that Toshu's body was not carried back into Karakura in the usual military fashion? Why was he cremated before you, the so-called commander had the chance to place the wreath and medal upon him?"

Ichigo frowned as his eyebrows furrowed. What was Urahara implying? True, the manner of Toshu's funeral had been suspicious, but the siege lasted for half a year. The body could have decomposed and the healer's may have seen fit for the body to be carried forth without a stench reeking of decomposing corpse riding amongst them.

He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts but as in turn silenced by Urahara who had rose from his seat and started pacing in the dark room. The candle light waned on.

"While it is true that the body could have decomposed and was cremated to avoid the stench of dead bodies, think about how strange it was that the only battalion who suffered from poisoning would be Toshu's batch. I thought that all soldiers shared the same water source, it would hence forth only make sense of the entire army was also diagnosed with poison. So how exactly did the others knew beforehand? Sure, the healers could interfere and saved the soldiers' life. But why didn't they send in any documents regarding the water-poisoning? Protocol was and is always strictly followed, more so if it was in the midst of a waging game. Secondly, it goes against human nature to not want to take credit for some major outbreak of diseases that you prevented. It could be just me, but don't you find the matter highly suspicious?"

Ichigo scowled. His mind deep in thought, come to think of it, he was pretty sure Uryu mentioned something like that as well.

A deep growl rose from his throat, he hated Urahara with a vengeance. Always disappearing and reappearing in his life to plant those ridiculous ideas of his in his mind, and worse of all Ichigo couldn't shake off the gut feeling that Urahara was once again right.

In the end, he realized that he couldn't even trust his own generals and men. A bitter chuckle erupted. In a way, he supposed he should be thankful of Urahara. It was foolish of him to place trust on his own men.

In the battlefield, it's every man for himself.

Trust and honour was a hard thing to come by. He learnt his lesson well.

"Judging from your tone, I suppose you already know the truth, Urahara-san. So please spare me the wait and just tell me how did Toshu and his men met their end." said Ichigo.

"War," answered Urahara nonchalantly. He stood near the window, basking in the aloof presence of the mocking crescent, feeling the cold winter air whipping harshly against his face but otherwise remaining impassive and expressionless.

XXXX

Colour rose to Ichigo's cheeks. The nerve of that perverted bastard. His wavering control on his anger snapped, as would hot scorching lava erupt from the molten volcano, anger erupted from Ichigo in a form of havoc and chaos.

"Don't give me your half-assed answers, getaboshi! Either you tell me, or I'll find the truth out from my own men by myself," bellowed Ichigo in a loud and threatening manner. Urahara remained expressionless, throwing an occasional glance at the moon ever so often but yet made no move to explain himself. Ichigo fumed.

Silence stretched between the two men.

One growling and silently demanding the intended answer from the others, while the other simply stood there offering silence and nothing else.

With a final breeze of the chilly winter night, the waning candle light finally gave way, as if it was signifying that the conversation between the two men have also came to a halt. Darkness and silence were then the only greetings of the room to its occupants.

Urahara sighed, breaking the dreaded silence. Leaping onto the thin window sill, he balanced himself accordingly. The cane in his arm now tucked inside his coat. His right hand gripped the window handle tightly. Moonlight danced upon his pale figure.

"I still haven't garnered enough evidence for support my theory, to make you believe my side of the story. I couldn't take the risk of awakening the sleeping foxes lying beneath the still grass. But I do know this much, Kurosaki-san. Toshu was captured alive and his men were all massacred. Neck wounds on all of them. Clean slash. No visible sign of struggle. Probably caught in an ambush. Stranger still, the Kuchikis seem to have no knowledge of such an incident. It's unsettling, even for me. There's another force at work. Cunning and at large. My only advice for you now is to wait. I'll be heading towards the mountains tomorrow. If I'm not back by next week, you'll receive a letter from Tessai. You must do as the letter states. Oh and Kurosaki-san, I would suggest you keep an eye on your dear wife. She seemed to be the only connection and thread I have uncovered."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? How can a girl be connected into all of this! Answer me, getaboshi!"

"Too late, Kurosaki-san. Perhaps another time, maybe then a lot of things would have surfaced and seem clearer to the eyes. Take care," said Urahara jovially. Spreading both of his arms outwards, he drew a sharp breath before leaping downwards, exiting through the same entrance he came in.

Ichigo sprinted towards the window. Disappointment evident in his honey amber orbs upon discovering that Urahara had once again disappeared from sight right under his nose.

That man was truly a strange fellow. Ichigo snorted. Peace wasn't really an option nowadays.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. Urahara's echoing words rang on in his mind. The gut instinct of his remained unsatisfied. Something was amissed, but what?

He frowned. Why was his life destined to be plagued by mysteries? Deciding that his only option now was to lie in wait, he marched towards the exit.

His right hand grabbed hold of the door knob and felt the chilling coolness radiating from the metal beneath his fingertips. He turned the polished knob.

The door swung open. Scarcely had he place one foot outside the library, Ichigo's wandering orbs have already landed onto the figure of a nervous Ishida Uryu still clad in his evening kimono plastered with hues of blue and silver, murmuring comforting words into the ears of his tear-stricken wife.

Ichigo's frown deepened as he noticed that his cousin's usual cheerful grey orbs were rimmed with tears, her expression dire and panic, with her lip quivering. Her silky crimson kimono was crumpled and he spotted several tears and red stains ruining the attire. She seemed to be shivering in fear.

Not trusting in his cousin's ability to speak, he turned his attention towards his second-in-command. His glare and frown firmly in place, demanding to know what had happened to his cousin. Uryu ignored his commander.

He simply allowed his depressed wife to take refuge within his warm embrace, as if he was shielding her from the terrors of the world. She rested her head on the crook of his neck, the stray tears staining her husband's kimono.

Only when her wails of despair have fallen silent, did Uryu answered Ichigo's question.

"Kuchiki-san has been kidnapped."


While Ichigo was drinking in the library…

Ishida-Inoue Orihime looked upon the petite bride with undisguised admiration and adoration. She envied how the sheer, flimsy night gown fitted snugly around Kuchiki Rukia's slim figure. Every curve was outlined elegantly, as with the gown that ended abruptly above her knees. It made her look elegant and refined, without inspiring lust. Well, not that much anyways.

Then, her gaze travelled upwards. She looked past Rukia's creamy thighs, her delicate chest, past her shoulders until they finally landed upon her porcelain-like face with hints of childlike innocence still present. Her smooth alabaster skin complimented her ebony midnight locks perfectly. Her small lips that were painted crimson red curved into a shy smile that could enchant even the wildest of beasts. But most of all, Orihime adored Kuchiki-san's wide, expressive eyes.

Try as she may, she couldn't describe the colours of her eyes. Indigo was a shade to dark, cerulean and azure seemed to a shade to light. In the end, Orihime came to the conclusion that Kuchiki-san's eyes were different from reflecting the swirling emotions within herself and the lighting of the room. They were unique.

There was no doubt about it. A beamish smile surfaced upon Orihime's lips, mirroring the shy smile on the young bride. Kurosaki Ichigo was a lucky man to have such a lovely bride.

"I hope you don't find my presence disturbing, Kuchiki-san," Orihime began.

"No that's fine. I find your presence comforting, Orihime-san. And please, Rukia-san is fine. After all, as of tonight, I would no longer be a Kuchiki now, would I?" asked Rukia rhetorically. Her serene smile still plastered upon those lips. Orihime beamed.

"You are a very beautiful bride, Rukia-san. My cousin is a lucky man to have you as his wife. Both of you seemed so perfect together. I'm sure your children will be as adorable as you are. Maybe our children can be playmates," said Orihime enthusiastically as she bounced up and down around the room in rejoice.

Rukia nodded, a small blush crept its way onto her pale cheeks. She was just about to open her mouth and join the conversation when a loud crash was heard.

XXXX

Shards of window glass flew and landed carelessly, some on her kimono, others on her bare skin, drawing blood. Orihime screamed.

She whirled around, only to see the figure of a large, almost giant-like man standing before her. His face was marred; streaks of tear-like scars, raw and jagged ran down on both side of his cheek. When he grinned, one could see the dirty-looking, yellow dentures that doubled as his teeth before smelling the pungent and acrid smell of cheap sake. Heavy armour shielded his chest and shoulders; along his waist was a simple wakizashi, its hilt a shade of dark red made from ox hide. A small, carefully crafted jade ornament was hung loosely along the hilt, looking strangely out of place with his rude master.

Without another word, Rukia sprinted towards her sword, grabbing hold of its hilt.

She carefully made her way across the room, standing and protecting the weaponless woman. She pulled out her white sword from her sheath, before dropping the sheath onto the ground with a loud clang. With both hands gripping the hilt, she eased herself effortlessly into a defensive stance.

Behind her, Orihime could already feel the stray tears that were falling like raindrops down her cheek. She was scared. Her knees buckled and her entire body threatened to gave way, to collapse into an unconscious heap onto the floor.

"Orihime, run!"

XXXX

Hearing Rukia's voice, Orihime's vacant eyes that were previously glassy with fear snapped open. With her newfound strength, and adrenaline pumping inside of her, she ran without hesitation, sprinting out of the exit without turning back. She urged herself to go faster.

To hurry and leave this place of violence, she could still hear the blows exchanged between Rukia-san and that man. She wondered if Rukia-san was wounded. Would she be injured? Worst, will she be raped? She sank down onto her knees in shame and disgust, how could she abandon Rukia-san like that?

Rukia-san protected her, while she did nothing and simply bolted out the exit. She clutched her head, trying to block out those terrible images.

Please stop it.

XXXX

"Hime-chan," came a soothing baritone voice behind her. She whirled around to see her husband. A look of concern plastered onto his face. Flustered, she swiped away the stray tears with the back of her palm. No more, she told herself. She wasn't going to run. This time, she was going to be strong and hold the tears at bay. She owed that much to Rukia-san.

"Uryu-kun, come with me. Someone broke into the room and attacked us. Rukia-san wanted to protect me, she-she told me to run. We have to go," said Orihime who immediately started running back into the room. Resolve and determination plainly seen within her serious grey orbs. Her husband followed suit.

Pushing the door open, Orihime was shocked to find the room in shambles. Several night stands and paper lay amidst the wreckage. Chairs were toppled over with their soft cushion shredded. Linings of fur and strips of clothes were found.

Droplets of crimson blood were found on the floor. She felt sick. Salty droplets of tear poured out from her eyes as her weak knees sank onto the ground. The presence of a comforting hand on her shoulder made her bawled even louder. She threw herself onto her husband's awaiting shoulder. Sobbing and burrowing herself deeper within the embrace, she held onto him for dear life.

Uryu placed a gentle hand onto his wife's back, soothing her cries and murmured sweet nonsensical things into her ears. From the corner of his eye however, he spotted a small round like object lying on the ground. It looked smooth and green-in-colour.

Was it a piece of jade?

Placing a reassuring palm onto his wife's back, he reached for the object. What he saw next, rendered him speechless. In his palm, was an ornamental jade, smooth to the touch, inscribed upon it was the characters of bravery and the detailed image of a battle boar.

The very same jade was presented to newly instated General Jourin Shiaka less than a month ago by the one and only Kurosaki Ichigo.

He saw the saw jade earlier in the evening. He remembered that said man had been carrying his precious wakizashi all night long, boasting to anyone who will listen, about his magnificent victory and practically shoved the jade towards every guest present.

He rubbed his temples.

Ichigo was not being to be pleased to hear that one of his generals just kidnapped his wife.


The summer heat was unbearable inside the stuffy room. She felt drowsy, even more so as she listened to the annoyingly slow drawl of her tutor. It was torture. She struggled to keep her eyes opened. Her tutor drawled on about the importance of being a respectable lady when she grew up, but she wasn't paying any attention. She yawned loudly, upsetting the tutor.

"Kuchiki Rukia, you are a respectable member of the Kuchiki clan. I expect you to behave like a noblewoman. Respectable women, noblewomen never yawned, no matter how terribly boring the found the situation."

"Then, you do admit that your classes are boring, Usehi-sensei," came a new-comer's voice, surprising both occupants within the room. She beamed. Her previous frowning lips curved to form a genuine smile as her gaze fell on the new comer.

"Class is adjourned as of now, Usehi-sensei," declared Kaien jubilantly, the authoritative tone he used betraying his identity of the next Kuchiki heir.

"As you wish, Kaien-sama," answered the tutor submissively, shuffling for the exit.

"Kaien-dono," she exclaimed in happiness as her sapphire-like orbs shone with jeweled like brilliance. She threw herself onto the raven-haired teen, toppling him as both of them fell onto the ground. He gave a loud groan of pain as his back connected with the hard wooden flooring. She giggled happily.

"Hey, is that any way to treat your savior," pouted Kaien who had eased into a sitting position on the floor.

Rukia huffed. Bundling her little fist and playfully punched her brother, she giggled again as she saw him cradling his wound in mock hurt.

"Baka, Kaien-dono. You're the one who got me into this mess, I told you we shouldn't have gone to the stables." she complained in a childish manner.

"Still, it was fun. Did you see the look on the old hag's face when she thought that there were ghosts inside the stable?"He countered, his tone carefree and jovial.

"Still, it's no fair that you got away scot free, while I was punished to endure these terrible etiquette lessons with Usehi-sensei," she pouted.

Kaien sighed. "There are a lot of things in this world that are not fair, Rukia. You can't change that, you never could," he answered seriously, the wisdom contained in his words sounded too old and weary for a child his age.

Rukia simply stared at the retreating figure of her brother. Watching the dream-like figure became hazy and blurry, listening as the words echoed silently before fading into nothingness. It was time to wake up.


She woke up to find herself strapped onto a chair. She winced at the pain. Her captor must have knocked her unconscious before dragging her into this place.

Where am I?

The sight of a dark room greeted her. The windows were sealed shut but she could still hear the chilly December air howling against the window. Unsurprisingly, both her hands were tied behind her back. She struggled against the tight bonds around her wrists. She cursed when she found the bonds biting into her flesh. Too tight for her to break free.

She squinted her eyes in the dark to focus her gaze on the various objects lying in the dark. She saw broken pottery littered carelessly around her.

The faint glow of moonlight outlined the sturdy frame of the door, but it was too far for her to reach it. Even though her legs were unbound, it was pointless for her to run. She could barely make out the shards of the broken porcelain, but she didn't need to feel their sharp edges on her skin to know that they could draw blood.

She cursed her luck. Why couldn't things have gone smoothly on her wedding night?

Conversing with Ishida Orihime had been a start, well it had, until her brutish captor appeared out of nowhere and started breaking the window glass, knocking over the tables and kidnapping her. She could only pray that her stupid would-be saviours spotted the jade ornament in time to save her.

Save her.

XXXX

The word tasted oddly bitter in her mouth as she pronounced each syllable.

She hated that word with a vengeance.

She didn't want to be saved.

She couldn't afford to be saved.

She was independent and resourceful; she would do no less on her own.

It was dangerous being the one rescued, because you would learn to rely too much on your saviours, placing too much false hope on them, thinking that they would always appear in your moment of need. It was foolish to think that they'll always be by your side.

Watching you, comforting you, just like a guardian angel. Kaien-dono was like that once, he was her personal guardian angel, the one who made summer a lot more bearable by issuing petty challenges to her, challenges she would win, the one who spoke on her behalf when the elders belittled her, the one who encouraged her when she didn't meet up to her tutor's expectations.

But then, that was a long time ago. Unneeded memories that have long been suppressed came to mind.

"You look far too calm for a damsel in distress," came the unnerving voice behind her.

She froze. Her mind was in scrambles, but she knew she needed to remain calm, to have a clear mind on her shoulders. So, she played the part of the stolid block of ice without batting an eyelash. She was going to play her part well. No one will ever have the satisfaction of seeing her insecurities again.

"What do you want?" she enquired, a mask of cool indifference sliding between her captor and her face.

She mentally congratulated herself when she heard the short pause of her captor in answering her question. He hesitated. Her smirk of victory went unnoticed in the unlit room.

"Come now, good sir. Surely you didn't carry me around just because you felt like it," said Rukia. Easing herself onto a more comfortable position on the hard chair, she continued in her usual tone of nonchalance, "Did you lose a bet?"

No answer. Her eyebrows furrowed. "No, maybe not. You don't seem like the kind to lose any bet," she added, hoping to get some reaction from her silent captor that was standing behind her.

He gave a snort of amusement but then he kept silent.

"I know you didn't kidnap me for revenge. Did someone order you to kidnap me?"

He drew in a sharp breath. She took it a sign to continue. "Funny really, I never really pegged you as the obedient lap dog type. I supposed you'll go off to find your master as soon as he blows the whistle. How obedient you are, I really wouldn't mind having you as a lap dog," she taunted.

The crack of knuckles behind her, warned her of their owner's animosity and anger. If she kept this up, she had no doubt her captor would break his hold on his anger. Weakling, she sneered. Men who couldn't keep their anger in check were truly weaklings; in the end they would always give up their secrets without a fight, without knowing that they gave up their secrets willingly. Pathetic really.

"Ah, can you hear it now, Doggy-chan? Your master is calling for you. I can see him waving a bone, no wait; it's a steak, fresh and juicy. He says that you've been a good dog," she smirked, feeling the sheer anger that was radiating from her captor.

"Cat got your tongue, Doggy-chan?"

He snapped. With a simple lift, she found herself a few feet off the ground, face to face with the angry man. His eyes bloodshot and the smell of sake invaded her nostrils, making her nauseous. Maybe she had bitten more than she can chew, but she wasn't going to let him see her fear. She steeled herself, narrowing her eyes into dangerous slits- the ever so famous Kuchiki glare. She met the drunkard's glare head on, refusing to look away.

"Who ordered you to kidnap me? Answer me," she commanded, exuding the air of refined but authoritative Kuchiki nobility. The man though several times bigger than her, quivered beneath her powerful gaze.

A quick slash in front of her caught her attention.

She could simply watch in horror as the brute that was threatening her slowly crumple onto the floor.

She was thrown backwards, landing painfully against the hard floor. She looked up to see the gash directly behind man, oozing black crimson substances. She tasted the coopery taste of the liquid on her tongue and realized that she must have had blood splattered onto her face.

The man frothed blood, choking on his last breath that was ironically his own blood.

She simply stared, unable to do anything.

"Blind," the man gurgled in his dying breath.

But she didn't understand the cryptic message behind it. She was shocked and surprised. She had never pictured that the day of her witnessing death right before her very eyes, to be in this form.

The aftershock gave way to a numbing sensation of witnessing death before anger took hold.

Who in the world decided to kill her captor? She was already extracting precious information from the man, why did he place the finishing blow, right before she had the chance of knowing who ordered her kidnap? The nerve of that good for nothing piece of trash.

Swirling amethyst met molten amber. Each of them hating the other to the core of their being for getting into their respective way. A clash of wills broke out, as a battle of eye-glaring ensued. Both participants unwilling to announce their defeat, unwilling to let the other have the satisfaction of seeing them crumple.

With his molten amber still focused on the diminutive figure crumpled on the floor, Ichigo regarded his wife with a look of contempt and annoyance. "You owe me big time, for saving your ass right then, you got that! Midget!"

Rukia seethed. Midget? No one had the gall of calling her midget since the time she ducked her taunting cousin in the well. The gall of that man. She gritted her teeth, "I don't owe you anything husband dear. I didn't need your pathetic attempt of a rescue. I was doing fine."

His nostrils flared. Anger getting the better of him.

"You call being dangled half way up in the air 'doing fine'? Then, how exactly are you doing when he stabs you with his wakizashi!"

She scowled. She answered only to herself.

"Your concern for me is touching, my dear. Humbly receive my tears of thanks while I throw myself into your warm embrace for comfort," she shot back, not even bothering to disguise the venom of sarcasm.

This means war.