P . A . T . H . W . A . Y
VII
Complexity over Tea
In a dimension not far from earth, there lived a young woman with golden hair. Her duties around the spread of houses and complexes in which she spent her days were varied and numerous. She was always busy, whether or not it was necessary for her to be so industrious was uncertain, though every so often the young woman could be seen lounging alongside a windowsill, or an open door, as if expecting something or someone to arrive at any moment. Her peers, however, knew better than to question it, for they halfway knew the answer to start with… yet none dared to mention it, either in her presence, or within the group.
It was taboo.
And so everyone went about their daily lives, training, honing their skills, going on missions; all in general preparation for something great and terrible. There was a war coming closer—each day brought it ever nearer, until the peaceful days spent in the warm sunlight were dwindling. Tempers flared more and more easily—it was said that one of their own rested among the enemy, and the word 'traitor' was whispered so many times in and out of doors that those whose ears were listening began to believe, and question. There was talk of an attempt at rescue at first, but the word 'rescue' was becoming more and more taboo as well.
The fair-haired woman listened as well, but half-heartedly, as if thinking about something entirely different all the time.
The days rolled by… dawn to dusk, dawn to dusk, again and again. Each day seemed more wearisome than the last for her. The work was long and hard—suddenly it became harder and harder to sit and wait by the windowsill or the open doorway… and wouldn't it be so much easier to rest then after a long day's work? Or to have a drink? Or to practice her skills with sword and arcane art as she ought to have been doing all along? Her visits to these open portals became less and less frequent.
But they did not cease.
And then one day, as if by some freak of chance, a cold wind blew in from the north, bringing with it both fog and mist. It covered the warm sun and the clear blue sky, and all beneath them trembled.
All save one.
At that moment, at the break of dawn, the golden-haired young woman knew, and raced outside to see, a smile dancing on her lips—the endless mountain of things to do forgotten. The field outside was empty save for the dusty, moist wind, and as she watched a single figure appeared on the hilltop. His hair gleamed silver even from this distance, his lean frame shrouded in white cloth.
All other ills forgotten, she ran to meet him, like a child seeing someone she had lost long ago. They embraced, for the barest instant happy at last, and proceeded to talk of things neither here nor there, things that in the end were neither necessary nor important, but things that would remain between the two of them above all else.
'You wanna know somethin' strange I saw, Rangiku-chan?' the silver-haired man asked, his arms folded beneath his head as they lay in the field of long grass and stared up at the waxen sky, pulling random shapes and objects out of the misty clouds for both of them to share and laugh at.
'What is it, Gin?' she grinned, glad to have him say anything to her just then.
'You ever heard—nah, it's stupid… an' prob'ly not true.'
'Oh, come on! You wouldn't have mentioned it if you weren't planning on talking about it! Tell me!'
'All right, all right. You ever heard of a Hollow an' a human fallin' in love?'
The blonde snorted, disbelievingly.
'That's crazy. You been drinkin' again, Gin?'
'Maybe so. Maybe so. It just occurred to me all o' a sudden… '
Rangiku looked across at him, suddenly deadly serious.
'…when I was havin' that last glass o' wine. '
She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Gin's smile shone toothy and bright in the misty atmosphere. The sound of her voice was like music to his ears…
"Ulquiorra Schiffer," a deceptively enchanting voice greeted him knowingly. "You wish to see me for something." It hadn't been a question, but a statement. The pale figure stood tall near the empty table, as if he had forgotten what to do after the meeting had finished. But Ulquiorra hadn't forgotten—he just didn't know how to broach the subject. So Aizen had done it for him.
The pale figure turned his gaze to the relaxed shinigami still seated at the head of the table, his eyes cold but distant, as if he were not really looking at the man in the chair at all. Behind the shinigami, Kaname Tosen and Gin Ichimaru stood at either side of the doorway. Ichimaru's smile was fuller than usual, but otherwise, the two subordinates were silent. Ulquiorra's gaze shifted to the two of them before he nodded slowly, uneasily.
"About your charge," Aizen continued, grinning kindly, but his sharp eyes studied the Arrancar's every motion precisely.
"Yes, Aizen-sama," the monotonous voice began, and it was with effort that the pale figure kept his voice indifferent, as the shinigami might have guessed. "I am merely curious as to what you plan to do with her once her purpose is fulfilled." The following silence was tense as Aizen observed his underling carefully—an ally that was usually so efficient and uncomplaining. His sudden queries were surprising to say the least, and perhaps a bit annoying.
How strange.
"Go on," the shinigami murmured sibilantly, as if coaxing a small animal into a trap.
"I have observed her abilities carefully," Ulquiorra continued. "They might prove useful in the days to come. Her powers of healing would be invaluable, for example, on the battlefield." At these words, the shinigami leaned forward lazily, a smooth gesture, but one that instilled fear in all but the most determined of those under his gaze.
Ulquiorra stood firm, as if he were not threatened at all.
"You know, the most wonderful thing about Hollows," Aizen told him smoothly, "is that they regenerate completely on their own. No extra aid required—so long as it is my will that they do so." His warm smile deepened as he put careful emphasis on the last phrase. The aspiring shinigami-king let the silence hang in the air for a moment, curious as to how the Arrancar would respond.
"Yes Aizen-sama," Ulquiorra nodded, continuing impassively. "But they do so slowly at best, if at all before they are killed." The shinigami leaned back again, perhaps deep in thought. Ulquiorra Schiffer hadn't ever come to him with such questions before; it wasn't in his nature. The fourth Espada was efficient, intelligent, and unyielding—but now…
Why, it sounded almost as if the Espada were pleading for the girl's life.
But of course, Aizen hadn't said anything as of yet about disposing of her—he had thought it to be an unspoken truth.
This was a flaw on Ulquiorra's part—should he deal with the issue now? He had heard from his subordinate of the conflict between the sixth Espada, and the one who stood before him now—who indeed would be better suited for the post?
Aizen's smile deepened…
No, no… not until the girl had restored the Sphere. The problem could be sorted out then. But for now, Aizen found himself fascinated. What had come over the Espada all of a sudden to make him want to take such desperate action?
"Very well, Ulquiorra," Aizen relented, his thoughts hidden behind a perfectly serene mask. "If you are certain you can get her to agree to such service, I shall leave the task of training her for battle in your hands."
Orihime woke slowly, her eyes dry and feeling as if they were filled with grit. But then, it was to be expected, after what had happened. She closed her eyes again, wanting to go back to sleep. It was so warm here, and soft. Someone had put a cloth on her forehead, which was nice, because her head was pounding. Somehow she knew that as soon as she moved she would feel very, very sore. The light outside her window bothered her eyes—she turned her head away from it.
"Will you sleep all day again, woman?" a familiar voice greeted her, but the sound of it made her want to scream. She turned her head to look at him, ignoring the discomfort in her eyes. Ulquiorra Schiffer sat cross-legged beside her, leaned against the wall. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he had been asleep as well, but they opened wide again as he realized that she was, indeed, awake. She glared miserably at him. What right had he to be here, watching her as she slept?
"My name isn't 'woman'," she said hoarsely, wishing she hadn't spoken at all. Her throat felt like it had been scoured with sandpaper. She lifted her arm with difficulty and removed the towel from her head, then sat up, feeling both exceedingly sore, and uncomfortably stiff. Her own weakness made her even more frustrated. She irritably pulled back her thick blankets, ignoring the throbbing ache in her forehead, but the action left her unexpectedly drained.
She was still wrapped in his coat.
Her eyes began to water as she remembered the night in the desert. She blinked back tears, irritated that they had come so easily, and began to extricate herself from the bed, but soon gave up, and merely pushed herself back against the wall. She glared at the Espada beside her, daring him to say anything. But he only looked at her with those cold green eyes of his.
She pressed a palm to her brow in an attempt to will her headache away.
"If you are not well, you should rest," he remarked tonelessly. Orihime wished he would just be quiet—it was bad enough that he was in the same room to begin with. But he had already said that the room was his; she didn't have the strength to force him out of it—he had already proven that.
Before, she might have taken the comment as a sign of his concern for her—but she didn't know what to believe anymore. After the things that he had said, how could he expect her to take to heart anything that he told her now? And yet here he was, talking to her as if it had all been a dream. If her body hadn't ached so much, and she hadn't found his coat around her, she might have thought that it had been.
"What makes you think I'll do as Aizen asks of me now?" began Orihime, trying to make her battered voice as cold as possible. She waited expectantly for him to say something, become angry, but he did not. Ulquiorra looked away from her, his countenance expressionless, but his eyes listless and distant. The redhead wondered exactly what he was thinking—whether or not he would answer her question, or come up with some other clever plan to secure her services. The silence between them stretched longer and longer as she waited for him to speak.
There was a shuffling noise, and the clatter of dishes on a tray in the hall. Orihime shifted to look at the entrance—the old Hollow servant had entered with some wet towels, and a teakettle and cups. She wondered for a second why it was that Ulquiorra had not brought tea instead—she'd never seen the two Hollows in the room at the same time. The ancient hunched Hollow seemed slightly surprised that she was awake.
"You do know that as soon as I'm better, I'm just going to try to escape again," she addressed the Espada again, further incensed by his silence, and wanting to goad him into action. "I might even try now." Ulquiorra's gaze returned to hers, and inwardly she smirked, because she had finally gotten his attention. But he still said nothing.
What was wrong with him?
She heard a wheezing laugh from the direction of the old man.
"I wouldn't count on that, girlie, if I were you," the servant said. "He's been sittin' in here for about two days straight, and I don't think he's goin' anywhere anytime soon. Pretty sure he'll be able to stop you if you try it." At these words, Orihime turned back to Ulquiorra, who was still regarding her silently.
He's been sitting there for that long?
"So I'm guessing my friends are still alive then," she said tersely, "since you obviously haven't had the time to go and find them." Orihime folded her arms, refusing to believe that he had stayed out of worry for her. She remembered the party—he was probably only here to make sure no one attacked her until she'd done her job.
"They are preparing to enter Hueco Mundo," he replied. "They will be here in a matter of days."
"So I'll be forced to restore whatever it is to its proper state before they arrive," she said, recalling the Espada's conversation with the silver-haired shinigami. "Then what are you planning to do with me?" She asked the question, already knowing the answer, because he had already said it. But she wanted him to be truthful for once; she wanted him to be the one to tell her himself.
"I have spoken with Aizen-sama concerning your abilities," he said, and Orihime stiffened, her eyes narrowing.
"Why can't you just be honest?" she asked, her already strained voice rising. "I heard what you said, Ulquiorra. I just wanted to hear it from you myself. Friends don't lie to each other, in case you didn't already know." She looked away from him, realizing what she had said, and stared into her lap. She wanted to say more, but her next question wouldn't come…
But then, you never really considered me a friend, did you?
"Your situation has become more complex," he said quietly.
"I don't see how," Orihime snapped. "Unless you've made it that way. Have you?"
He was silent.
She glared at him, hatefully. In the background, Orihime could hear the old servant pottering around with the dishes. The sound was distracting; it made Orihime think of her growling stomach, and her dry throat. If the old Arrancar's words were true, she'd been asleep for two days with a fever. And during that time, Ulquiorra had stayed by her side…
"Why did you come after me, Ulquiorra?" The question came easily, smoothly, as her questions normally did now. The tone was light, almost cheerful, but there was a melancholy underflow beneath its surface.
"I guess you'd have rather frozen all by your lonesome out in the desert, eh?" piped up the old Arrancar in the background. Orihime turned her attention to the wizened man; surprised that he had been listening in, and also surprised that he knew so much about what had happened.
"I don't see how it would make a difference," she said casually. "Except that if I came back here, I would have to aid the enemy before I died. I was hoping to meet my friends out there, but I guess they haven't even gotten here yet." She paused, curiosity getting the better of her. "How did you know what—?"
"I guessed as much," said the old man. "You only get that sick in one of two places, girlie: Hueco Mundo at night—or the North Pole." He chuckled. "Honestly, though, you don't give Ulquiorra-sama much credit—he was lordin' over me the whole time I was tryin' to take care o' you. It was either 'you ain't doin' it right' or 'that's too hot' or 'what're you doin' you idiot'—"
"That will be all, Yayo," interrupted Ulquiorra. The old man shuffled quickly out of the room, chuckling deeply as he went. Orihime's eyes found Ulquiorra's again, except this time, they were questioning. Had he really been that worried for her, then? It just didn't make sense… There was a long, awkward silence before Orihime spoke again.
"So… um… what did Aizen say after you talked with him?" she asked sheepishly.
"I will tell you while you eat," he said. He observed her as she finished unraveling herself from the blankets and coat and rose to her feet too quickly. Her sore legs shuddered under her, so that she had to grip the wall for support. It was all very embarrassing, she thought dizzily; especially when he was watching her. She should at least be able to stand on her own. So many times, she had tried to appear strong in front of him, knowing that she wasn't.
He rose with her, his form lithe and graceful. She envied him so much for his effortless confidence—he always looked like he knew what he was doing even in the most unsettling of situations. Yet he wasn't like Ichigo, who ran bullheaded into every new challenge—Ulquiorra always sat back and calculated and thought about what he would do next… and his observations were nearly always right. She took a step forward, her strained legs fumbling beneath her… and it occurred to her that he was standing so close to her for a reason.
He's going to catch me, was the first thought that ran through her mind.
His body was firm underneath hers, the hands she knew to be so dangerous supporting her trembling frame easily. She felt his coat against her palms—they lay like limp flowers on his chest. When had she become so pale?
When had she begun to trust him to help her time and time again?
"I'm sorry," her lips formed the words before she had even thought to say them.
Sorry for what?
For falling into him? For getting angry with him? For running away?
For not trusting him?
"Foolish woman," Orihime heard his soft voice whisper above her, but there was something in his tone that left her speechless. She felt herself being led to the couch at the opposite end of the room, already drowsy even though the walk was so short. She had walked with him many days previous for a much longer distance—it frustrated her that she was becoming tired so easily. He sat down beside her, and where in the past she might have cringed from his contact, now she leaned against him as she rested; she shouldn't fall asleep here, she thought, it was dangerous to sleep next to a Hollow.
I shouldn't fall asleep here; he'll be worried again…
But her eyelids were so heavy…
Ichigo Kurosaki, Uryuu Ishida, and Chad Yasutora—the three of them out on a mission to save a friend at last. They ran across a grassy plain between the dimensions, one all at once familiar, and yet foreign. Every so often a pillar of dusty orange stone would jut from the flattened countryside, telling them that they were making progress. Every step forward was another step towards Orihime Inoue, who was waiting for them—him—to come and take her home.
He quickened his pace; Ishida and Chad moving double-time to catch up. Uryuu might have complained on any other occasion, but not today.
Ichigo had wanted to go ever since he had woken up with Rukia at his bedside—but he had had to train first, to contain his Hollow long enough to summon unparalleled levels of energy… Eleven seconds—it would have to be a series of quick duels then. He wasn't going to wait any longer.
Orihime had waited for him long enough.
He'd already made her wait long enough for him to recuperate. If it weren't for Rukia's insistence, he would have been running to Urahara a long time ago. But she had been right, he admitted to himself grudgingly; if he had gone in that condition to Hueco Mundo, it was doubtful if he would return alive himself, let alone with Orihime at his side.
Her note…
Goodbye halcyon days…
Over the past few days, he had spent more and more time thinking about how it had gotten there… it was in her handwriting—and not from a previous visit; she'd never actually been in his room before, for starters. And she'd been kidnapped before anyone realized that it was there. So she had to have written it after she was taken prisoner—but how had she done it?
There were only so many ways one could travel to Hueco Mundo—and unless Orihime had found some magical gate that she could travel through on her own without anyone watching, there was no way she could have done something like that by herself. Heck—he couldn't do something like that by himself; thus the reason they were running to Urahara for help. Because the scraggly-bearded shinigami seemed to have all the answers.
He was smart like that.
The only explanation Rukia could think of was that the Arrancar had let her out. And he was the first one she had come running to… but why, Rukia had asked, had they let her out to begin with?
Because genius, his inner Hollow piped up, you're walking into a trap.
"Yeah, well, and what if I don't care?! " he yelled, already furious because it was his inner Hollow who was making things so difficult to begin with. It was his fault Ichigo was having trouble keeping up his bankai energy. Every second he had to train to keep Hichigo under control was just another waste of time. If Hichigo hadn't kept him frozen like that when he had been fighting Grimmjow that last time, Ichigo might have won—might have followed the blue-haired Espada back to Hueco Mundo then and there. None of this would have happened…
Aww… chill out. Your girlfriend can wait. Keep in mind the only reason you're able to produce such power is because I allow you to do it.
"Shut up!"
Ishida and Chad looked sidelong at him, eyebrows raised. Ichigo smiled at the two of them, assuring them both that he wasn't crazy.
His inner Hollow chuckled.
Says you. You wait 'til we get there and see if what I said ain't true? You can feel it in your bones—and so can I, by the way…
Orihime's my friend. I've got to do something…
Hichigo grunted, and resumed his customary place at the back of his mind, presumably waiting for something more interesting to happen. Which it would, he thought, smirking; Ichigo would make sure of that. He had almost had him with that last duel with the blue-haired guy. If the other green-eyed dude hadn't slipped in at the last minute… But it was all right. The little twerp had to slip up again at some point…
Don't count on it, cheap shot.
"Hey girlie," an ancient cracked voice said from somewhere above her head. Someone shifted beneath her, their arm resting around her. Her head lay against something firm and yet soft—every few seconds she would hear a breath taken or loosed; the rhythmic sound threatened to lull her into slumber. If it weren't for the annoying voice over her head, she would already be asleep again.
"Hey, wake up… drink this."
Her eyes opened, the sudden light blinding. She caught a glimpse of a hunched old man in front of her, before closing her eyes to block out the burning sunlight. She supposed it was he that was trying to put something warm into her hands. Tea maybe? She liked tea—or maybe it was hot chocolate. Even better, she thought.
She sat up slowly, half-asleep, but then lay back down again, thinking better of it. She decided that whatever it was the man was trying to get her to drink wasn't much incentive for her to wake—her resting place was far too comfortable. She nuzzled against the firm but soft thing, and heard the breath still for a moment. It was a skip in the rhythm—and it occurred to her that she was leaning against someone very odd—she couldn't even hear a heartbeat…
Hmmm… weird…
"Girl!" the old man's voice barked, and then muttered something that she couldn't hear. She could hear shuffling noises growing fainter now. It sounded like whoever it was was farther away. Good, she thought, now she could sleep in peace.
"Orihime," her breathing pillow addressed her softly. The sound of it washed over her ears… It had a deep voice, a proud voice, the tone slid over her name like velvet—she liked the voice, she thought, her lips forming a soft smile. She wanted it to speak again—maybe if she sat here long enough, it would say something else…
"Orihime," the voice repeated, and her smile deepened. Why did this wonderfully pleasant voice sound so familiar to her? She had just spoken with its owner earlier…
It sounded like—
Ulquiorra.
"WAUGH!"
She jolted up gasping; her grin vanished. Her dry throat ached in protest; she coughed raucously, and then swiftly opened her eyes and looked beside her. Ulquiorra was staring at her in alarm, and the old Arrancar in front of her—Yayo—had dropped the cup of tea he had been trying to offer her. She looked away, putting her face in her hands in an effort to hide the fact that her cheeks were burning a deeply rosy red.
I was not just thinking about how nice his voice is, she convinced herself, and smiling about it.
"Geez, girl! Give somebody a heart-attack, will ya?!" griped the old man loudly, leaning down to clean up the mess of tea on the floor. The fourth Espada was already pouring her another cup of tea. "You're 'bout as bad as he is—screamin' at random—man-handlin'—crazy nutcases—" He trailed off in a list of expletives and half-attempted insults before shuffling clumsily from the room.
Orihime looked up as Ulquiorra pressed the cup of tea into her palms, and placed his own hands over hers before letting go. He still sat very close to her, she realized. The human girl looked at him, the gesture not helping the rising color creeping up her countenance, and drank the tea. The warm sweet liquid felt like heaven running down her parched throat.
"I guess I must've fallen asleep again," she remarked hesitantly, finishing her tea. Her nervousness made her speak too quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… and maybe I shouldn't have run away to begin with and gotten myself sick… and I really shouldn't have snapped at you like that—I guess I didn't realize you were…" She trailed off, looking down at the porcelain cup in her hands. The memory of that morning came flooding over her again.
…worried about me…
Was he? It certainly seemed like it…
But the things he said… and he's a Hollow…
How could a Hollow have any concern for a human? It defied the laws of the spiritual world… and yet the old man's words kept coming back to her—when she looked at Ulquiorra, she found that those hard and fast lines were beginning to blur for her. If she ignored what he had said, she could easily still consider him a friend.
"You apologize too much, woman," Ulquiorra replied impassively.
"I guess so," she agreed, not knowing what else to say, but all the while studying him closely. He looked away from her; in the cold sunlight the green tearstains below his softened eyes gave him a despairing expression.
But he looks so miserable.
Hadn't he always looked like that?
She couldn't remember…
Without knowing what she was doing, Orihime raised a hand to his face, and with one small digit traced the marking that fell from his eye all the way down to his jawbone. Then she touched the other side of his face as well. His skin was so soft, even though she knew it to be invulnerable. He started at her touch, and looked askance at her, his viridian orbs curious.
"Why do you have these, Ulquiorra?" she asked, pretending that the sudden contact was just a pretense for her question. Which it was, she thought quickly. "I haven't seen anything like them on the others—well… I guess some of them had markings, but not like yours." She did remember seeing a few splashes of color on the faces of some of them—perhaps an odd triangular shape here and there. Those she had seen, though, were stoic—none of them engendering any sort of emotion at all.
Ulquiorra's looked decidedly sad—an appearance intensified, because he never smiled.
I wonder if I can get him to, she thought, idly.
Maybe, if he doesn't chop off my head first.
"I… am not certain," he replied, perhaps a bit troubled because he didn't know. It wasn't like him to not know things—particularly about himself. The question made him feel uncomfortable—or maybe it was simply because she had asked, and he couldn't tell her.
She smiled at him, deciding not to pursue the topic.
I'll save it for a rainy day.
"So…" she continued awkwardly, changing the subject, "How has my situation become more complex?"
"Aizen-sama believes your regenerative abilities might be useful in battle," he explained. "He has given me permission to train you."
Orihime stared at him, dumbstruck.
Healing Hollows, so they can fight my friends?
Orihime stared at him for a few moments, considering—Ulquiorra had probably stuck his neck out pretty far to get Aizen to agree to this—she'd gone from 'disposable' to 'perhaps useful' in a matter of days. But… how could she agree? It was one thing to help Ulquiorra, if he needed it, but quite another to aid those she knew would only be harming those she cared about. She truly would be a traitor then, but more than that, if anything happened to them, she would be inadvertently responsible for it…
I couldn't do that…
If she told him she did agree, though, she could be assured of safety before her friends arrived to rescue her. Everyone here would believe that she was on their side, wouldn't think she was an enemy, until her friends came and brought her back home…
But…
I'd be lying to him.
Friends don't lie to each other… I've already said that…
But if she told him she would not agree, how did she know beyond any shadow of doubt that he wouldn't go and tell Aizen? Then she would be in the same position—forced to restore the Orb before they killed her. And yet somehow she couldn't imagine that the fourth Espada would do something like that—could she?
Moment of truth…
"Ulquiorra," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Her eyes remained trained on her tea—it was so much easier to talk to the innocent porcelain cup than to the fourth most powerful among the enemy ranks. "You know I can't agree to that—I'd be healing people who would only turn around and hurt my friends."
She looked up quickly after she said it, wondering how the Espada would react.
Maybe that wasn't the most intelligent of decisions…
But, she realized, she wanted to trust him. She wanted to be given a reason to trust him, wanted to see it for certain. Because he could have only saved her knowing she was useful to his master, he could have only spent time with her to deceive her, and all of those horrible things he had said could have been true…
She waited, her heart thrumming…
"I see," he murmured, acting as if he knew she what she would say all along, and Orihime held her breath.
He rose quietly from beside her, and for a split second, she panicked, thinking he might be going to inform Aizen of her decision—but he only looked back at her, his expression cold and distant. And yet his eyes were wistful as they gazed into hers. Then the Espada turned away again, slowly, and padded closer to the entrance; hung in the doorframe, pausing as if frozen there.
"Then I suppose I have only bought you a little more time."
OMG I am so freaking sick. I feel like Orihime feels in this chapter. Sorry if things don't flow so well. My head feels like it's filled with moist sponge.
...bob Squarepants.
LoL
Yay for random Gin-ness at the beginning. I was looking for a place to insert it - and this chappie needed extra words. So there ya go. Enjoy! :D
Also, I read on a Spanish online translator that Yayo means Grandpa. Because the other names I picked out didn't sound quite right... XP Yayz.
Thankies SO MUCH for your reviews! :D
I don't own Bleach.
