Disclaimer: Heh. Nope.

The Three-Body Problem

A Bleach Fanfic

Chapter Ten: June

"Why are you here?"

The spirit was small today, in a way that reminded Uryū of a child. It produced the voice to match, but the uncanny thing was that its eyes still looked ancient. He wasn't sure he liked it, this… entity. Intellectually, he knew that whatever it was, it was part of him, but knowing that and bringing himself to really acknowledge it were two separate things. It asked a pertinent question, though.

"To speak with you."

"Why?"

Uryū went for honesty. If it was really part of himself, it would know if he lied anyway. "Because I want to know your name."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily, eyeing it. What was it Urahara had said? A difficult spirit often meant a strong sword? He certainly hoped so. Stepping over the threshold into the dark portion of his inner world, Uryū sat down. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be a short conversation.

"Because if you tell me what it is, I'll be able to use shikai."

It drifted over towards him—most of its lower half was amorphous cloud at present. The spirit blinked its too-bright eyes and tilted its head to the side. "Is that important?"

Uryū's brows drew together. "Yes."

"Why?"

He suppressed the urge to groan, trying to maintain his patience. "It grants me another power, one that might be useful against the people I have to fight. I need to be stronger if I'm to succeed, and I must succeed."

Its head tilted a little further, and it didn't even have to voice the question this time. It was simply understood.

"It's the right thing to do. The people I'll be fighting—they want to change everything. And not in a good way. They'll kill as many people as they have to to do it. Humans, shinigami, ordinary souls just trying to go about their lives. They don't care about those people. It's wrong, and I have to stop it." Or at least contribute as much as he could.

"It's good to have principles," the spirit said, its childlike voice almost sad. "They're like stars."

"Stars…?" Uryū considered the metaphor. 'Gaseous celestial bodies' obviously wasn't the intended meaning. Sources of light? He glanced to the other half of the inner world, where Lucia slumbered. It was true that his principles were connected very closely with his pride as a Quincy. After all, it was because he was a Quincy that he had those principles. It was their way.

"…they're the best parts of me," he murmured. Like the stars were the best parts of the night sky. That seemed to fit more than anything else. It was his principles that guided him through most everything. They shaped how he viewed the world and how he made his decisions. If not for them, he might have never stopped to help Rukia the night he met her, nor elected to go to Soul Society to retrieve her. He wouldn't be here, certainly.

The spirit blinked slowly. "But they are not the only parts of you."

"…no." Uryū looked down at his hands. He thought he understood what it was trying to get at now.

"I also… have to succeed because there are things I must overcome."

"Like what?"

He swallowed. "I'm not… I'm not strong enough to protect what I care about. Every time I—" Uryū's jaw clenched. "It's easy to be attached to or defined by a principle, because even if I failed to defend it, or was defeated in the effort… the only person who would bear the consequences for that is me." Uryū knew he was resilient; he had the scars to prove it, so to speak. But there was more to it than just that.

"But when what you are attached to is a person, and not an idea…"

He inclined his head, still staring fixedly at his hands. He folded them together and squeezed. "It hurts," he rasped. "And I feel… weak." Inadequate. Lost.

"Why does that make you feel weak?"

He pulled in a deep breath. "Because if I love something… I lose it. Always."

Uryū thought of his grandfather. The person he'd loved most in all the world. But when the time came, he'd been unable to do anything to protect him. He'd just stayed hidden, and watched as the center of his world was ripped apart. It was his fault. He blamed the shinigami because it was easy to do so. But, at bottom, he hadn't lifted a finger to help either, and he'd been right there the whole time. He'd loved his grandfather, and so his failure was eve worse than that of those who'd merely been assigned to watch him. How could it be otherwise?

And his mother—he hadn't been able to help her, either. The sickness seemed so sudden in his memory. The way she'd just collapsed, and then, months after, the way she was simply gone.

His posture slackened; he hunched over. It felt like he couldn't even hold his spine straight anymore.

In the end, he'd even lost his father. Not to death. Only to irreconcilable divergence. But it was still a wound in him, one he could not quite heal. His foundation: cracked, ruptured, then split in twain. The tension in his frame shook him, little quaking shudders, and Uryū tried to remember to breathe.

"So you're afraid to love anyone else."

He closed his eyes, and nodded, just slightly.

"But you can't stop it."

Uryū expelled his breath in a dry, bitter laugh. "Of course not." If he were stronger, he'd be able to live the way he was supposed to—he'd be capable of sustaining himself on his principles, of doing what was right without regard to how difficult it was, of letting the wounds in his soul scab over and heal. But he could not. He lacked the resolve.

He could not keep himself from reaching for them. For his friends at Urahara Shop, who'd given him a place to live full of warmth and kindness. For Rukia, who had turned his world upside-down, and taught him that he could see past his hate—that he was a better man when he did. For Karin, in whom he saw too many pieces of himself. For Yuzu, who gave so generously that he forgot to refuse.

He should turn himself away, before he loved them. Before he lost them.

But it was far too late—and he, far too weak.

"Ishida. Stay a moment. The rest of you can go." Fēng waved a hand dismissively.

The rest of the class filed out, one more day of hakuda training complete. Uryū remained where he was, standing with his arms folded behind his back. Fēng's classroom had a much more enforced air of formality about it than any of the other practica instructors bothered with, but something about the mandatory solemnity also made it easier to focus. Or so it seemed to him, anyway.

He was about to ask her exactly why she wanted him to remain behind when he got his answer. She took up a spot on the mat in front of him, unfolding her almost permanently-crossed arms and rolling her shoulders back.

"Sensei?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "It's been a while since you've really gone all-out, hasn't it? Don't think I can't tell the difference."

He frowned. "That's not—"

Fēng's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're doing, and it makes sense. Letting your opponent get a few blows in helps them learn. But as your instructor, my duty is to help you learn. Since the regular class isn't doing that anymore, I will have to change my methods."

Uryū released his arms, letting them drop to his sides. They bowed to each other, and settled back into ready stances. She gestured for him to attack first, a short quirk of her fingers.

He responded defensively. Fēng was a master of the art, and while he might be handily better than the rest of his class, he was not better than her, and he knew it. So it seemed best to test the water cautiously.

Keeping his guard up, Uryū strafed in quickly, aiming a fist for her ribcage, just under her elbows. His hit rebounded off her forearm—she'd moved so quickly he almost didn't see it.

Fēng did not waste time testing the waters; before he was rightly prepared for it, she'd launched into a flurry of short, sharp jabs. He had to hurry to block them all, and the kick at the end sent him skidding backwards several feet. He'd only just been able to put his arms between her foot and the center of his chest. The impact stung several seconds afterwards—he would almost certainly bruise.

Recovery time was short, however, because she pressed forward. He caught her next kick, twisting his grip to bring her to the floor. She simply twisted with him, however, jumping and bringing her other leg up and over, forcing him to let go or take a knee. The latter would be suicide in such a match, so he released her, using the dead time to strike for her shoulder.

She turned it aside with an open palm, her strength remarkable for someone of her diminutive size. Launching herself into a back handspring, she nearly caught him on the jaw with the arc of her heel. He had to bend backwards, and even then he felt the whisper of air as it passed by.

Slowly, she pushed him into ever more athletic, acrobatic maneuvers, and before ten minutes had passed, they were using the whole dojo, including the walls and ceiling. He found himself wishing for a space more like one of Urahara's underground training facilities, but the tighter quarters were a strategic challenge of their own.

Fēng caught him on one of their high-speed passes, planting both feet on his chest from a handstand and shoving, tossing him easily back into the wall. He hit with a heavy thud, all the breath rushing from his lungs. Rolling sideways to avoid the punch that followed, he swept his leg out towards her feet.

She jumped, twisted herself midair, and landed a kick right across his jaw. Uryū toppled sideways, surprised it hadn't broken.

Not that it didn't feel broken. Because it did.

"You should have redirected that one, not tried to block" she said, folding her arms across her chest. The activity of their spar had pulled several hairs loose from her braid, and there was a very fine sheen of sweat on her arms and face. Comparatively, though, her breath was steady, and he'd only really managed to deal her a few glancing blows.

"When your opponent is stronger, the soft arts are better. You know that."

He did—it was just sometimes difficult to remember to apply them in the middle of a high-speed spar. Uryū declined to say that, though—Fēng was not the sort of woman who accepted excuses.

"How are they?"

Uryū blinked. "Who?"

She snorted. "those two knuckleheads who taught you hakuda. You think I wouldn't recognize Yoruichi-san and that nuisance Kisuke? They're all over your movements."

It might have been obvious to her, but he was genuinely surprised. "How long have you known?"

She rolled her eyes. "Day one, Ishida. I'm the one who taught them hakuda. You don't forget students like those two, no matter how long you live."

"They're… they're doing well, I think. Aren't they always?" It was difficult to imagine either of them in genuine distress. Certainly he had never seen it.

"Hmph." She nodded curtly. "That sounds about right." She paused. "Same time tomorrow. Remember your tactics before then."

"Yes, sensei."

"You always land on her side of the world first."

Uryū considered that. "I suppose it's because I'm most familiar with that part. Yours is new."

The spirit shook its head. "No it's not. I'm older than she is."

It wore the general shape of a man today, rather than a child. Actually—its dimensions were a perfect match for his own. Uryū turned himself to face it directly, finding its eyes right at the level of his. "How could you be? I only received an asauchi almost a year ago."

"No. I am older. Becoming your sword gave me shape, but I was always here. I was always part of you."

It seemed… more certain, than it had been before. About anything.

"You… you know what you are now. You know your name." Uryū tilted his head to the side; the spirit mirrored the motion exactly.

"Yes."

"Will you tell me?"

It blinked at him. "Only if you tell me something, first."

There was a long pause; the spirit's eyes shifted so that it was looking over his shoulder, into the light. "If she woke up, would you reject me?"

Uryū turned so that he was looking out as well. Lucia, still in the same spot, slumbered as she had been for nearly three years. It ached, sometimes, how much he missed his Quincy powers. It felt like part of himself was missing. Like he'd failed, somehow, to be what he should be. He'd lost his power, and he wondered if he hadn't lost some of his strength with it, for all he'd been able to see in himself lately was weakness. Of will. Of resolve. Wasn't it a sign of the same, that he'd had to come here at all, to learn the arts of people he still sometimes thought of as enemies?

But…

"No." He reversed direction to regard it carefully.

Uryū pulled in a breath. To even say this was going to take more out of him than he thought he had, but… the truth was staring him in the face, and he could not deny it. Part of him didn't want to, anymore.

"She is… an important part of who I am. In my best moments, I am strong like she is. I can shoulder things on behalf of others, stand on my own. I'm unashamed to be what I am, and I don't care who thinks what of that. That's my pride, and I'll never give it up."

He paused. "But… sometimes I am weak. Perhaps more often than not." He lifted his eyes to meet the spirit's. "There are things in this world that I need, that I can't do without. There are things that I'm afraid of. Things I'm ashamed of. Things that I rely on. Times I can't stand by myself. Parts of me that I feel the need to… to hide."

His weaknesses. His doubts. His feelings of inadequacy. His emotions. His bonds. All could be used to exploit him, to lay him low. Beneath it all was the unbearable fear of loss. But they didn't all have to run together.

"I've tried to avoid those things. To reject them. To be my best self all the time, the one that needs nothing. But though it might be better if I could… I can't live on pride alone. And so…"

He sighed deeply. "I have to see if there is anything in my weakness that can be turned into strength. I have to learn to do what others have already done—to let the fact that there are people I could not stand to lose make me stronger, instead of weaker." Softness did not have to be weakness. Softness could be strength, just like it was in hakuda. When the enemy was more powerful—meet that force with something different.

Yield. Bend. A rigid branch snapped under the same pressure that a sapling would spring back from easily. Silk could be stronger than iron, if utilized properly.

"And why must you have strength?"

Uryū swallowed. "So that I may also have weakness." He already did. He always would. And it was just as much a part of him as the rest.

"I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to keep second-guessing my friendships, or trying to keep everyone in my life at arms' length. I want to be allowed to care. I want to let them in. But I have to know… I have to be able to do better this time."

The spirit smiled.

"Last day, huh? You really cut it close, Uryū." Karin walked next to him in the hallway, her hands laced behind her head.

"It isn't as though either of you have registered yet," he pointed out.

It was true; they hadn't. Yuzu hadn't even decided until today that she wanted to, so he could understand that, but Karin had known she'd be taking the exams for the better part of a month; she properly should have done this already.

"Yeah, well… I was just waiting for you guys to catch up." She looked away, as though the wall of the corridor was suddenly interesting somehow.

He smiled to himself, but made no comment.

The door to the small classroom was already open, currently manned by a bored-looking administrative assistant, but when she saw the three of them enter, she stood quickly.

"Can I help you?"

"We're here to register for the graduation exams," Uryū said.

"Oh. Well… just one moment." Nodding, she opened a door behind her and disappeared into another room. When she returned, Ōnabara was with her.

He seemed unsurprised to see the twins, but when his eyes fell on Uryū, he frowned slightly. "Taking the graduation exam before the completion of sixth year requires a shikai, Ishida-kun." He folded his arms into his sleeves.

"That will not be a problem." Uryū pushed his glasses up his face.

Ōnabara's brows hiked upwards, and he blinked. "Well, if that is the case, I will have to ask you to demonstrate, as none of your instructors have reported to me that you've yet released your zanpakutō." Rather than disbelieving Uryū's implication, Ōnabara seemed curious about it.

"If you wish, sensei."

"Will you need a larger area, or can you complete the release in here?"

"Here is fine."

Ōnabara inclined his head, then took a step back. The twins obligingly moved to the side of the room. Uryū drew his wakizashi with little ceremony, feeling the distinct little pulse of energy under his fingers—the spirit was not hiding from him now. Bringing his right hand to join his left on the tsuka, Uryū made sure he had a firm grip on it with both. It was probably better not to mention that he'd almost taken off a few toes last time he did this.

"Tachikomero, Yorugen."

The words slid off his tongue more easily than he'd expected—they were, after all, a shinigami's words. But such distinctions were not his, anymore. He had to acknowledge both halves of himself. He was formed of dichotomies, and as much as it might be simpler to be only one thing, he could not.

And he no longer wanted to.

The wakizashi's blade seemed to waver at the edges, blurring in his vision. Shifting his hands, he slowly pulled them apart, and the sword went with him in both directions. The blade turned black in a slow ripple—as though someone had dropped ink at the base which slowly bled along the length of it to the point. Its shape changed, too, thickening and extending, the guards growing more elaborate and the shape more exotic. The very end reversed directions, curling back in towards him, and then the whole blade finally split in half, so that he was holding a sword in each hand.

"Shuang gō," Ōnabara remarked. "Hook swords. That's interesting. Any idea what type they are?"

Uryū shook his head. "He only gave me his name this morning."

"Understandable." Ōnabara nodded, then looked up to include the other two in the conversation. "I'll register all three of you. There's a meeting on the last day of the month where the exams will be explained in more detail. You would do well to attend."

Yuzu couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she, Karin, and Uryū sat down in the lecture hall. It was filled nearly to the brim with students taking the graduation exams, most of them sixth-years. Even the obvious scrutiny that the three of them drew—not to mention the unsubtle whispering—could not dim her enthusiasm.

They were going to do this. Together.

It just seemed right. They'd all joined up on the day of the entrance exams, and they'd been living and training together ever since. To her, it only made sense that they should end this part of their journey side by side as well.

Though she'd been doubting her decision to take the exams, Uryū reaching shikai had been the last little boost she needed. It seemed too much like fate to avoid now, and she knew that she'd never do better in these exams than she would with her sister and their best friend by her side.

"All right, all right, settle down." Ōnabara stood at the front of the classroom, reassuringly the same as ever.

Yuzu relaxed a little more into her seat.

"You're all here because you've registered to take the graduation exams. This meeting is so we can give you a little more information about the format of those exams, and what you can expect."

Several other teachers were arrayed behind him, among them all of the first years' practicum instructors and several more Yuzu didn't know—maybe the ones who taught the older students.

"First, you should know that there will be written exams in every subject area offered by the academy. You may elect to take as few or as many of them as you like, but remember that the more competencies you can demonstrate, the more likely you will be to earn a good posting in a squad or branch of the armed forces suited to your talents."

Several students scribbled furiously—Yuzu took notes too, but at a calmer pace.

"After the written exams, there will be practica for each of the shinigami arts. Some of these assessments will work much like traditional classroom exams: your instructors will have you perform certain tasks, and grade your ability to meet the demand. However." He paused, waiting until he had all the attention in the room before continuing. "One aspect of every practicum will be public, and you will have an audience. Traditionally, our public assessments are attended by a captain or vice-captain from every division of the Gotei 13, as well as either the Grand Kidō Chief or Vice Kidō Chief. This is your chance to earn yourself some attention; it is imperative that you perform to your highest standards during these examinations."

Yuzu felt her stomach drop to her feet. Public assessment? In front of captains? She swallowed thickly.

Ōnabara ceded the floor to Yanagi-sensei. The old man was smiling as amiably as ever, moving into the middle of the lecture well with an obvious spring in his step.

"Good afternoon, everyone." He bobbed his head a few times when several scattered return greetings emerged from the crowd. "The hohō exams are rather straightforward, really. The basic tests will just be measurements of how fast and far you shūnpo, your long-jump distance, that sort of thing. Nothing to worry about. The public portion is an obstacle course. We usually send you through that in groups of three or four. There are a couple little tricks, but nothing you won't be able to figure out, I'm sure."

Yuzu thought there was something a little suspicious about the way he said that, but she was more concerned about the speed trials. And dreading them already.

A young woman, apparently the zanjutsu instructor for the sixth-years, told them that they'd be assessed on their kata, and then matched up with opponents of similar skill for public sparring matches. The idea of fighting a sixth year was hardly appealing, but similar skill sounded promising; Yuzu had no idea what she'd do if she had to spar Karin or Uryū.

Hakuda would work almost identically to zanjutsu.

"Eh. All you have to do for the public portion of the kidō exam is know your limitations," Kuzo said, shrugging. "We're going to be asking each of you for a list of all the kidō you can do, which ones you think you can manage without incantation, and any other special skills you might have. I'll call the name of a few of the spells on the list, and you hit targets. Just like class."

Yuzu frowned at her notebook for a moment, then wrote a line beneath the exam description. Kidō list. She'd need to think carefully about what to put on it. Too ambitious, and she'd mess up. Not ambitious enough, and she might not make up for her less-than-stellar subject areas.

"For those of you with a cumulative exam score that places you in the top twenty students in the graduating class, the exams will conclude with interviews, in which the officers who were present for the exams may choose to speak with you directly, should they believe you might fit their division or branch. I must impress upon you that the interviews are a privilege, and in no way a guarantee of your choice of post." Ōnabara frowned.

"One week after the interviews have concluded, everyone will send offers to those students they wish to retain for their divisions. Those students who receive more than one offer are given three days to decide which to accept, and then the rest of you will be assigned to your divisions based on the need for personnel." He paused a moment. "It is worth noting that some divisions in the Gotei 13 are unlikely to accept any new members this year, as they are running at reduced capacity."

Yuzu had a feeling she knew which divisions those were. She grimaced.

"As of now," Ōnabara concluded, "You have one month until your examinations. I recommend you spend that month in preparation. You are dismissed."

Karin was pretty sure she'd never sweat this much in her life.

Summer was pretty hot here, though, and as many hours as they'd been outside… well, the shade of the tree was welcome.

It'd been pretty much nonstop training for her, Yuzu, and Uryū since that meeting where Ōnabara had basically scared the pants off all the sixth years by implying that if they didn't do well, they'd end up doing laundry in the Fourth for the rest of their lives. Being the only first-years trying to graduate, there was no way they could let themselves get left behind.

All of them were trying to develop their shikai as much as possible, of course, but there was plenty of academic cramming and all kinds of other practice to be doing, too. Yuzu had shaved half a second off her hundred-meter shūnpo time already. Karin could now reliably cast Shitotsu Sansen without incantation, though it wasn't as strong as she'd like it to be. Still, it was way above benchmark for passing, which was good.

Sugitani and Shinjirō, who also had year-end exams to worry about, had nevertheless agreed to help them train as much as possible. She supposed it was just as good for them, fighting against shikai and stuff, so it all kind of worked out.

Everyone was pretty much wiped at the moment, though. Shinjirō had scarfed his food and was now napping under the tree. Uryū and Yuzu had their heads bent over a textbook, using the respite from the physical stuff to compare notes on kidō theory or something. Sugitani had his back planted against the tree trunk, arms folded into his sleeves. He looked to be staring into the middle distance, but Karin had this weird impression that he was… guarding them, somehow.

It was weird, but she didn't bug him about it. Wasn't like it bothered her.

Actually, it was hearing him shift that alerted her to the fact that something had changed. Sugitani lifted his head, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. She turned to follow his line of sight, taking her hand out of the picnic basket she'd been rummaging around in.

It didn't take long for her to spot the problem: Moribito was approaching. Scowling, Karin stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. She saw Uryū's eyes narrow—but Yuzu looked thoughtful for a moment.

Moribito stopped a significant distance from their spot, shifting his weight from one leg to another. He looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, or his eyes, for that matter.

"What do you want?" Karin wasn't inclined to waste time waiting for him to decide.

The first traces of a frown settled over his face before fading again. His shoulders lifted as he took in a deep breath. "I wanted to say… sorry."

"What?" Karin couldn't believe her ears.

Moribito shook his head. "I'm not…" he paused. "It's hard to explain. I don't know exactly what I think about all of this yet, but what Fujita's doing—just hating you on principle—I think she's wrong. And I've been…"

"A complete asshole to all of us?"

He did frown, then, but not at her exactly. "Yes. I thought about what you said—" he looked at Yuzu— "and how hard all of you worked here, what you were able to do. If… if everyone was right and you weren't supposed to be here, then I don't think you'd have been able to do all that, with us against you like we were."

He looked down at his feet, shook his head again, and then slowly inclined himself at the waist. "I am sorry, for deciding what you were like without knowing you."

Karin's hands tightened on her arms where she gripped them. She wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. It was good that he knew he'd fucked up, but that didn't make it all just disappear like it never happened.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Yuzu reach into the picnic basket, stand, and walk over to Moribito.

"Raise your head, please," she said quietly.

He straightened, his expression perplexed.

"I think it's good that you can admit what you don't know." Yuzu smiled. "You don't have to accept us for no reason. You saw us as a danger to your world. I think that you wanted to protect it, and there's nothing inherently wrong with that much. But… I hope that next time, you'll let yourself be unsure before you decide how to act, and not after."

Extending her hand forward, she offered him the object in it. "Would you like a cookie?"

He blinked. "A what?"

Karin had forgotten they didn't actually have those here. Yuzu made them all the time, because getting the ingredients was no problem, but no place in Soul Society sold them.

"A cookie," she repeated. "They're a type of sweet. I think you might like it."

Still looking very confused—probably about the fact that he wasn't getting the most vicious tongue-lashing of his life—Moribito accepted the offering.

"I… thank you."

"It's no problem," Yuzu said. "Just… promise me you'll keep an open mind in the future, and we'll put the rest of this behind us, right?" She glanced back over her shoulder to the others.

Uryū nodded. Karin shrugged—it wouldn't have been the way she handled it, but she didn't really care. If Yuzu figured this was the way to go about things, then fair enough. Sugtani just tipped his head to the side, a calculating look on his face.

"Good then." Yuzu nodded firmly. "But if you'll excuse us, Moribito-san, we should probably get back to practicing."

"I…of course, Kurosaki-san."

Term Dictionary:

Yorugen – 夜幻 – "Night Phantom/Vision." Uryū's zanpakutō. It takes the form of dual hook swords, both of them black throughout. Its type is unknown, but the release command is tachikomero (立ち込めろ), the imperative form of "to enshroud." I like this one because that can have a couple of different connotations. Obviously, enshrouding can imply hiding or concealing, but if the cloak is beneficial, it can also be a form of protection. One also enshrouds a dead body, in some cultures, so it could be implying that his enemies are as good as dead already. Words are fun.

Shuang gō – 钩 – Some Mandarin for the dictionary this time. Anyway, this is one name for Chinese hook swords. They can also be called hu tou gou (tiger head hooks), or qian kun ri yue dao (Heaven and Earth, Sun and Moon swords). The blades are fairly thick, traditionally wielded in pairs, and have a unique shape including hooked ends and crescent shaped guards that rest in front of the fingers. The hook is good for catching and redirecting other weapons, and the swords are extremely effective in a pair, because of the ways they can be combined. Since duality and hard/rigid vs. soft/flexible strength are prominent themes in Uryū's character arc, I thought they fit well. Plus, more than one canonical zanpakutō is not Japanese in origin.

Shitotsu Sansen – 嘴突三閃 – "Beak-Piercing Triple Beam." Bakudō #30. Generating a burst of crackling yellow energy in a palm, the practitioner uses it to draw an inverted yellow triangle, which generates solidified energy in the shape of smaller triangles from its three points. The smaller triangles fire and hit the intended target, pinning them against a nearby surface.

Whew! And the last shikai is in! I had a ton of fun exploring themes and creating those, let me tell you. Fairly obviously, next chapter will cover exams and (le gasp!) job interviews. Which are probably just as uncomfortable for shinigami as the rest of us.

Totally accepting guesses on who is going to what division/branch, though.