Disclaimer: Good news, everyone! I don't own this, so I can't actually retcon canon. Whew.
The Three-Body Problem
A Bleach Fanfic
Chapter Nine: May
"So, are you two planning on signing up to take the graduation exams?" Shinjirō took another large bite of noodles, making a small sound of satisfaction.
Yuzu smiled. It was nice to make food for a bigger group—she could try more things.
Karin's expression was decidedly more skeptical, and she gave him a look from the side of her eyes. "Duh. I mean, what's the point of sticking around when we can learn anything we missed from our higher-ups anyway? As long as we pass, we know we're going in just as good as anyone who took six years." Lowering the hand that held her chopsticks, she picked her teacup up with the other and chased her food with a drink.
Yuzu hummed. "I don't know," she hedged. "I mean, I'd feel more comfortable making sure I had the curriculum right before I tried to move on to anything else."
"So take the exam," Karin replied bluntly. "If there's something you aren't good enough at, they'll fail you and you can do another year." She paused for a moment. "Not that you're going to fail anything. You can shunpō whenever you want now, and your zanjutsu's way better than it used to be."
Still unsure, Yuzu grimaced slightly, stealing a look at the others. Uryū ate with the same minimalist grace as he used for everything else. Sugitani had already finished his first bowl and was busy refilling it from the dishes laid out on the table. He caught her eye on his way back down into his seat and half-smiled.
"She's right. You would pass. But nothing says you must take the exams simply because you qualify."
"Sure, but why wouldn't you?" Shinjirō asked around a mouthful of food. When Karin glared at him, he swallowed thickly and grinned. "Just think about it. If you score in the top twenty on the exams, you're practically guaranteed a seated officer position right out of Shin'ō. Plus, everyone's talking about you two by now: the 'genius twins' who already have shikai. You'd probably get your pick of squads."
"In any case," Uryū broke in, "you don't have to decide right now. You still have a month before the exam registration deadline."
Yuzu pursed her lips. On the one hand, the prospect was a little exciting. Graduates at or near the top of the class were, she'd heard, generally treated as Shinjirō suggested. Often given a choice between several divisions instead of being sorted according to need. Few had shikai, even among the sixth-years. She and Karin would be at a considerable advantage in the process. But at the same time… in electing to take the exams, she'd be pitting her skills in the other shinigami arts against people who'd been studying them for half a decade more.
Yuzu knew without a doubt that Karin would take such a thing as a challenge, and overcome it spectacularly. She, on the other hand…
The choice is yours to make, but remember your resolve.
She popped another clump of rice in her mouth, and smiled to herself when Karin snatched some eel from Uryū's plate. At least she still had time to think about it.
"How are things here?"
Rukia shrugged. "About the same as they've been for a while now. It's hard, sometimes, when Ukitake-taichō is having one of his bad phases, but we're pretty used to it."
They wound around the practice field at the barracks. Rukia drew to a stop as they reached the apex of the hill, which looked down on the dirt ring below. Several shinigami were sparring against one another with their zanpakutō; an unusual sight to Uryū, who was accustomed to seeing only wooden blades wielded against his classmates. Several more were taking turns at a set of kidō targets.
"I suppose they must have more practice than most, doing things without too much oversight." He watched a shakkahō fizzle out only halfway to the target. Then again, perhaps a bit of oversight might not have been a bad idea.
Rukia sighed. "It's strange," she replied. "Lots of these people wouldn't have been practicing half so hard a couple of years ago. I think knowing that there's a war coming gives them a reason to try a little harder, but…"
"The favorable result doesn't make the actual situation any better."
"Yeah." Her lips pursed as she watched the others train, something soft touching the corners of her eyes. "I'm glad they're trying to prepare, but I can't help but think it won't really help anything."
He didn't contradict her; she was likely correct. What the unseated or lower-seat officers were like in terms of strength probably wouldn't make a bit of difference against whatever Aizen had planned. At most, they might be able to fend off some weak Hollows. An endeavor worth pursuing, for the souls in the living world it might save. But one that would ultimately mean nothing, if Aizen defeated the captains and vice-captains.
"They don't really understand, do they?" he asked, adjusting his classes.
She sighed again. "No. I think the Sōtaichō has ordered silence on any of the details. Probably for the sake of morale."
Uryū hated the very idea of lying to someone for the sake of morale, but it wasn't something he got to decide. He knew things might be worse if they knew—fewer of these people would be out here training. Some of them might suffer worse consequences if they really contemplated their own inability to make a difference. But it would be honest, and those that pushed through anyway would have a sturdier resolve.
To him, this just looked like giving the cannon fodder hope, and it made him sick.
"It's not all bad," Rukia said softly from beside him. "We are getting better. I think that when things are over, we'll need that strength, and the camaraderie we get from training together."
Only then did it really occur to him that, as an unseated shinigami, Rukia might well be considered expendable herself. His stomach turned.
"Are you…?" He wasn't sure how to finish the question.
"I'm all right." She smiled at him.
He had the feeing she understood what he was driving at—he was grateful for that. "They still haven't promoted you?"
She grimaced; he knew, somehow, that he was asking a loaded question.
"No."
"You deserve to be an officer, if you want to be. You're strong enough." Not to mention everything else she'd been through.
A breeze stirred in the air, carrying the scent of sweat, soot, and dry earth. It pushed their hair away from their faces—Rukia suddenly looked much younger. No more than the teenaged girl she would have been in the living world.
"Thanks," she murmured. "I mean it."
He nodded.
They stepped away from the field, and continued towards the barracks building. It was made of the same white stone as most of the buildings in the Seireitei, with a vermillion-tiled roof and a prominent thirteen—inside the rhombus design all the Gotei divisions shared— displayed over the door.
As he'd discovered last time he was here, each Division had a complex rather than a single barracks, though he hadn't had much time to figure out what all the buildings were for. Apparently, multiple sleeping quarters, a mess hall, storage, one office building at least, and training rings were all standard, and some had other facilities based on specialization or the captain's whim.
Ukitake-taichō lived in a separate building, not uncommon for captains. His was surrounded by a koi pond and gardens, but for the moment, they stuck to the main area of the complex.
Occasionally, Uryū would catch a shinigami or two looking at him, but they all looked away as soon as he made eye contact, hurrying to resume whatever they'd been doing. At least it wasn't a crowd, like before the exams.
"You're pretty infamous around here," Rukia said on the third such occasion. "You and now the Kurosaki twins, too."
Uryū frowned. "I would hope they at least are not infamous."
She shook her head. "Well, yes and no. Opinions vary, on all of you, but it hasn't gone unnoticed, how well you're doing. People are already speculating about which squad you'll end up in. I get a lot of questions about you."
"That's quite preemptive, isn't it?" He wasn't, after all, going to be in a squad.
…was he?
Urahara hadn't actually specified, which was probably something Uryū should have noticed before now. What the other man had said was that if it became necessary, he could get Uryū out of the Soul Society.
He couldn't imagine staying.
But it was also difficult to imagine leaving.
He'd return to Karakura, and… what? Wait for the war to begin? Train with Urahara and Yoruichi? That part was believable enough, but—what then? Would the shinigami even accept his help if he left? Would they have a choice? Dare he think so far ahead as to wonder what became of him afterwards?
"I don't know," Rukia replied thoughtfully, tilting her head. "I think it makes sense. They'll be able to take the graduation exams, if they want, and people always speculate about the geniuses. And you, well… I think everyone here who knows you expects you to do well."
"And the people who don't know me?"
She shrugged. "The usual. Your presence here is kind of a scandal, but it's got everyone talking about the Quincy again."
"Good." At least he'd done that much. Negative or positive, he wasn't about to let anyone forget what he was, if he could avoid it. Even if he was still trying to negotiate the rest with himself, he'd never stop being a Quincy. They'd just have to deal with that.
The kidō practice field, Yuzu had discovered, was empty in the late afternoon, just before dinner. Since she had more general practice with the others at night, and did her homework between classes and after dinner, it was the ideal time to come here and practice new incantations.
The standard kidō curriculum for the six years at Shin'ō consisted of the first thirty each of Hadō and Bakudō. It was expected that the average graduate be able to produce those spells, and to be able to manage at least the first ten in each category without incantation.
The first class, having an advanced curriculum, was taught the first forty, and expected to be able to do the initial twenty without incantation.
Yuzu, knowing that she had to be even better than that to make up for what would likely be very average zanjutsu scores at best—and unexceptional hohō ones—had made it her aim to know the spells through sixty, and perform as many of them without incantation as she possibly could. This was no simple task, however; even producing a spell at those higher levels was extremely difficult, requiring a level of focus and control that pushed the very limits of her capability.
But it was worth doing, and she wanted to do it.
She moved her legs apart, about shoulder width. Standing how she was comfortable was important—if she was distracted even for a moment, she might not be able to hold the spell properly. Rolling her shoulders until they were loose, she shook out her hands and bent her knees slightly.
Closing her eyes, she focused inwards, feeling for her reiryoku. It was a strange sensation, one she couldn't really compare to anything else. She supposed that if people could feel their blood in their veins, it would be a little bit like that. Something, under her skin but part of her, and constantly in a slow, steady motion, circulating through her like a deep river.
Focusing on the current, Yuzu raised her arms, imagining that river inside herself changing course and flowing into her arms, her hands, and collecting there.
"Bakudō #39: Enkōsen." She pushed the collected energy outwards, shaping it with her mind into a concave disc, and held it steady. Enkōsen, she had found was one of the best spells to practice with, because while it functioned as a shield, a sheet of reiatsu, it required constant, steady upkeep, or the edges would begin to waver and it would shatter. The visual feedback helped her tune the exact balance of the energy, and match what she felt to what she saw.
She didn't think she was doing it quite right, though. It was steady, but Enkōsen were supposed to be pale gold. Hers was tinged magenta—the same thing happened with her Shakkahō, and most of her other spells. No one else seemed to have this difficulty producing the right form, if they could do the spell.
Frowning, Yuzu studied it, trying to make small adjustments in her reiryoku flow in hopes that it would correct itself. When she tapered off the energy, it did seem to clear a little, but it also thinned dangerously, and she shook her head, returning it to the way it had been.
"That's not right…"
"Hadō #4: Byakurai."
Blue lightning slammed into Yuzu's shield, startling her from her thoughts. The abrupt impact distracted her, and the resulting fluctuation in her reiryoku meant the bolt put a crack dead in the center of the disc. It spread outwards rapidly, piderwebbing over the Enkōsen's surface due to the sheer force of the strike.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Yuzu steadied the shield, locking it down against the impact of the second and third bolts. The crack grew each time, inching wider. If it got to both outside edges, she probably wouldn't be able to keep it together.
As suddenly as the assault had started, it halted, and Yuzu peered through the translucent shield to see a pink-tinged Kozu-sensei. Her arms were crossed, and a jagged smile split her face.
"Pretty good, Kurosaki. You almost lost it there in the beginning though." She stepped forward, poking the Enkōsen with her first finger. "Incantation?"
Yuzu shook her head. "No, sensei."
Kozu raised her eyebrows, blinking once. "No? Huh." She rapped the shield with her knuckles, then ran a hand along the edge of it. "This is nice and solid."
"W-well, I'd been holding it for a while already, so I had time to make some adjustments—"
"Kurosaki. I complimented you. Accept it."
"Y-yes, sensei. Thank you, sensei." She felt her face warming.
"Better." Kozu stepped back and nodded, indicating that Yuzu could release the spell.
She cut off the flow, and the shield burst apart in a cascade of pink sparks.
"Pretty," her instructor remarked.
Yuzu wasn't sure if that one was actually a compliment or not, so she didn't respond to it. "Um, sensei?"
"Yes?"
"The color of the spells. Mine aren't… right. Is there some way I can fix them?"
Kozu tilted her head sideways, eyes narrow. "Do you care?"
"What?"
"Do you care what color they are? They work properly, don't they?" The instructor shifted her weight, raising one leg and setting her foot against the side of her knee.
"Well… not if they still work. But I wasn't sure if it meant I was doing something wrong. The textbook says—"
Kozu snorted, waving a hand. "Screw the textbook. If your kidō are doing what they're supposed to do—and clearly they are—you shouldn't worry about the other stuff. Are you taking the exams?"
The abrupt shift in the direction of the conversation left Yuzu feeling unbalanced. "I… I don't know yet."
Kozu scratched her head, then raked a hand through her thick ponytail, throwing it over her shoulder. "Why not? I can tell you right now that the Corps would take you. Some people reckon that would be a waste of your talents, what with already having shikai, but I'm a little biased in its favor." She grinned. "But what I mean to say is, anything you could learn with more time here, you could learn in a squad, or with the Corps. Expectations are high for you, and your sister, but nobody thinks you know everything you'll ever need to, so don't let that be what holds you back, okay?"
"Okay." Yuzu nodded. There was more to consider—but she couldn't deny that had been a big part of it.
"Good. Now. What's the highest-level Hadō you can do?"
"Hm. You really need to figure out what that technique is called."
Karin stared flatly at Renji. "What do you mean, 'figure out'? It's my technique; can't I just name it whatever I want?"
Renji shrugged. "I mean, yeah, sure. In the same way you could name your zanpakutō whatever you want. But if you want to actually be able to use it for anything…"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Probably that was something she'd have to work out with Hisaku.
"Well… for now, just try it again." Renji took up a ready stance, holding the sealed Zabimaru in front of him.
So far, directing the flames Hisaku could produce had proved touch-and-go. Karin knew she was getting better already, but that mostly just meant she could generate the flames at will now, not that she could do much with them after she'd managed to. It was easier to spark them on a drawing motion, for some reason, but she could also fling them by charging the blade with her reiatsu and then swinging it.
Sliding Hisaku back into the sheath, Karin crouched for the draw, using her left hand to angle her zanpakutō for a faster swing. Her right hovered above the tsuka for a moment—she waited for Renji to nod, then gripped it swiftly.
Hisaku slid free with a rasp, and Karin pushed her reiatsu into the blade at the same time. Bright red fire bloomed along the edge, and she shaped her arc so that it would fly straight for Renji. The flames shot forward, but by the time Karin had completed the iaijutsu form and returned the katana to its sheath, they had guttered out nearly entirely. Renji had no trouble dispersing what was left, and he stood straight again with a frown.
Karin huffed, her frustration rising to the surface. "Are you sure naming this technique will help?"
"Positive," he replied. "Kidō blades like yours usually have a bunch of techniques that you have to figure out. You're probably also going to want to improve your reiatsu control. And keep practicing; that should let you push it out to further distances."
Karin looked down at her sword, frowning. She'd thought Hisaku had acknowledged her will to break herself out of her rut. But she damn well wasn't making it easy.
If it were easy, you would have done it already.
Uppity bird.
"Hey." Renji slung Zabimaru back over one of his shoulders. "It might not seem like it, but you're making good progress. Kidō blades are tricky compared to melee ones like mine. That doesn't mean it won't be really good, when you have it figured out."
"Yeah, well," Karin groused. "I guess not everyone can be a simpleminded monkey like you." Her eyes narrowed.
"I should just stop being nice to you," he said, scowling. "Obviously you're an ungrateful brat."
"Yep," she said, popping the 'p' at the end of the word. "But since you're such a loser, no one at your division will spar with you, so you're stuck with this brat for now." She grinned.
Renji rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say Kurosaki. Now come on. Quit talking with your mouth and start talking with your sword." He removed his zanpakutō from his shoulder and held it at an angle in front of him, passing his free hand over the blade. "Hoero, Zabimaru."
"You asked for it," Karin replied, though in truth she was surprised he'd bothered to release his sword. He surely wouldn't need to, to beat her.
But that reasoning only applied if his goal was just to beat her.
When Zabimaru flew for her, coiling in to strike from the left, Karin jumped out of the way with a shunpō step, drawing Hisaku and slashing for his shoulder in the same stroke. But his zanpakutō was suddenly there, and her blade clanged off with a ringing rapport. Karin's shoulders jarred with the force of the impact, and she barely managed to get away in time to avoid Zabimaru's next hit.
She landed out of that flash step harder than she'd thought, but she had barely any time at all to recover before Zabimaru was there again, coming in from the right this time. Karin dug in her heels and blocked, pushing with her arms and her reiatsu to repel the attack. Her whole body shook with the effort, but she did manage to fling Zabimaru away, giving herself just enough time to duck out from underneath the returning swing.
It occurred to her after about the tenth almost-hit that Renji was slowing himself down for her sake, and by a lot, if her guess was anything to go by. She would have been offended by that, once, but now she understood that it was for her sake—specifically, the sake of her improvement rather than her safety.
She jumped over a low sweep, using the recovery time he was maintaining to get in close, swinging with Hisaku for his midsection. Zabimaru blocked, but she disengaged before it could become a lock and spun to the side, kicking high for his chin in a hakuda move.
"Ha!" He swayed far enough to the side to avoid it—if only just—and brought his sword around again. "That was good thinking."
She felt the grin growing over her face again.
"…for a birdbrain."
It immediately reverted to a scowl.
"I hate you."
Practice was over for the night, and Sugitani and Abe had since departed, leaving the other three to finish up in their own time.
They'd cleaned all the supplies up a while ago. Uryū wasn't exactly sure when they'd wound up laying in the middle of the field, heads close together and the rest of them spread further out, like spokes on a wheel. But they were there, and he found that he had no particular desire to move.
Moving meant he'd have to go back to his room, and then go to sleep. That meant he would end up in his inner world, and he'd have more useless dreams in which he got nowhere with the spirit. It still seemed reluctant or unable to talk, and the more he tried, the more uncomfortable he became.
He much preferred this.
"Have you decided whether you're going to take the exams, Yuzu?" he asked, twining his fingers together just below his ribcage. The field lights were dim enough that they could see the night sky, for the most part. Unsurprisingly, the constellations in Soul Society were different from those he'd seen in the living world. He wondered if the stars were even real. Did Soul Society have an outer space? What would even be there?
She sighed, softly enough that it almost went unheard. "I'm still not sure. Part of me really wants to—I'm not sure the opportunity will ever quite be the same. But…" Yuzu made a small noise, just articulate enough to convey her lingering doubt.
"What divisions would the two of you want to be in, if you could choose? Or would you prefer something other than the Gotei 13?"
"Well, we all know I'm not the one who could make the Kidō Corps," Karin drawled. "I might do okay in the Ōnmitsukidō, but sneaking around really isn't my style. I guess maybe a division that likes swordfighting? The Eleventh or the Seventh or something."
"I think the Eleventh has an unofficial rule against Kidō-type zanpakutō, though," Yuzu pointed out.
Karin mumbled something cranky under her breath. "Yeah, well… I guess that sucks for them, then." She paused. "Renji said he was serious about wanting me to be in the Sixth. Don't tell him I said this, but I'm considering it. I'd hate to lose a sparring partner when I don't really care that much what division I go to anyway."
"Rukia-san's brother is captain of the Sixth," Uryū said. "He's… not at all like Renji."
"Yeah, but… I don't think captains interact much with the lower seats anyway. That's why it'd be smart to join the Sixth. If I know the vice-captain, I'm already doing pretty well for myself."
She had a point.
"I'm not sure I really have a preference, either," Yuzu said. "I haven't given it a lot of thought—it always seemed like there was so much time between now and then. Kozu-sensei thinks I would do well in the Kidō Corps, but I don't know. I like kidō a lot, but I'm not sure I want to give up things like training with Hasuhime to do more of it."
"What about you, Uryū?" There was a rustle as Karin rolled halfway over onto her arm to look at him. "First Quincy shinigami—where do you go?"
"Nowhere, if I can't get my zanpakutō to cooperate," he muttered darkly.
Karin frowned. "Okay, yeah, that's not great that it isn't talking to you, but like… even if you never get it to release, you can make up the difference with your Quincy powers, right? I dunno how that stuff works, but if you were good enough to beat a captain before, you're good enough to make a squad."
Uryū had to exert conscious effort not to flinch. "I don't… have my Quincy powers anymore," he admitted, eyes fixed firmly on the sky.
Karin took in a little surprised breath, and he heard Yuzu make a soft 'oh' sound.
"What… what happened to them?"
He clenched his jaw. "I needed more power, to fight that captain. So… I used an artifact called a sanrei glove to alter my… I suppose you'd call it my reishi absorption ability. The result was a lot of power at once, but the price was the loss of the ability itself afterwards. And since all Quincy powers rely on reishi absorption…" he trailed off.
"That sucks," Karin said, flopping back down onto the grass.
He thought that expressed the truth of things rather efficiently.
"Our mother was a Quincy." Yuzu said the words softly.
Uryū sat up abruptly, twisting around to look at the both of them. "What?"
Yuzu rose much more slowly, pulling her legs underneath her. "That's what dad says. It… didn't really mean much, when we learned it, but he told us we always had to keep it secret, because people here wouldn't understand." She smiled wanly.
"When we met you, I thought it was really impressive, the way you didn't try to hide it for even a second."
Karin made a noise of agreement. "Though it wasn't too smart."
He recalled the crowds and supposed she was right. "But… if your mother was… are the two of you…?"
Yuzu shook her head. "No. Or at least, we didn't inherit her powers. Ichigo might have, but…" She shrugged helplessly.
Right. Both their brother and their mother had been consumed by the same Hollow, on the same day. Uryū had never believed the world was a fair place, but even he had to acknowledge that such a circumstance was crueler than he usually expected.
He wasn't really sure what to say. "I'm sorry you've had to hide that about yourselves." The very thought was anathema to him, but he couldn't blame them or Isshin for the choice. He was ostracized now as, well, nearly an adult. They had only been children.
"I don't plan on it, anymore," Karin said bluntly. "I mean, I'm not going to go around telling people at random or whatever, but if anyone asks, I'm going to tell them straight. Our mom deserves that much."
Yuzu nodded. "Besides… you've managed just fine, Uryū. You might… you might be starting to change some people's minds. I want to be part of that, if I can. I think mom would be happy that we felt strong enough to try."
Uryū pursed his lips. "I can think of at least one way to start."
"Hey, Karin. Karin, wake up."
"Mmph?" Karin swatted away the hand Yuzu was shaking her with. "'M up. What's the emergency?"
Yuzu grinned. "No emergency. Look!" She straightened from where she'd leaned over Karin's bed and gestured to her desk.
Karin rolled herself off the mattress, her bare feet touching the tatami with soft thuds. Stretching her arms above her head, she yawned and padded over to the desk.
"…he's such a dork."
There, laying on her desk, was a new sash. It was predominantly red, but when she unfolded it, she snorted. Sewn into the silk was a big white cross.
A Quincy cross.
"Huh. He even adjusted it for iaijutsu." The sash had an extra string to hold her zanpakutō, in the style of sword-drawing specialists. That… would actually be really useful.
"See what I have?" Yuzu held up a deep blue scarf, also with a cross on it, and then wrapped it loosely around her neck. It clashed a bit with the red details of her uniform, but it would undoubtedly look really good with a black shihakushō.
"I think he might be telling you to take the exams, Yuzu." Or, well… suggesting that he believed she'd succeed, anyway.
Yuzu seemed content not to comment on that, but she did play with the end of the scarf in her hand for a moment. "I think this is the perfect way to start, actually. It's not overt, since a sash or scarf is kind of folded, but… if anyone asks about the pattern…"
They could explain pretty easily.
"Yeah," Karin said, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "Makes sense to me."
Term Dictionary:
Enkōsen – 円閘扇 – "Round Lock Fan." A kidō spell used to create a circular shield. It's Bakudō #39.
Byakurai – 白雷 – "Pale Lightning." A kidō spell that does pretty much what it says on the tin: generates a bolt of lightning. It's Hadō #4. Despite being a low-level spell, in the hands of a master like Kozu (or, in canon, Byakuya), it can be devastating.
One more chapter down. Next time: the exam registration deadline is upcoming, and Uryū still doesn't have a shikai.
