What's he doing?

Uryū will kill you if he hears you call him that.

And he'll strangle ya if he knew ya call 'im by his first name in yer head, Getsu refuted with a wave of his hand. Now, what's he doing?

Sunburned brows knitted together, teeth nursing the inside of his bottom lip as Ichigo focussed on a specific flame of spiritual pressure in the Kitakawase district.

It was his turn for patrol, a duty that had long become boring for their group. Hollow attacks had become sparse after the Winter War. The rare times that one did manage to find their way onto the streets of Karakura Town, it would be a recently Hollowfied Soul that posed no threat to any of them—not even Karin. Therefore, Getsu had suggested practising Pesquisa to pass the time.

Against popular belief, his awareness was a skill he prided himself in. He could pinpoint his friends and family across town effortlessly. Even distortions between Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, and the World of the Living he picked up on in his sleep. However, his sixth sense didn't give him much information aside from the basics. He would know who or what it was, the direction of their position, and a good idea of their spiritual pressure.

Now Pesquisa, on the other hand, was much more accurate; almost an upgrade to his sixth sense. It enabled him to know the exact location and, not only spiritual pressure but, spiritual energy as well. A sonar, if you will, that could pick up on the slightest of disturbances.

He's…sowing? Ichigo guessed.

What makes ya think that?

He's calm, Ichigo replied. But not like a "sleeping" calm, you know? More of a steady and focussed like calm.

He could also be reading, Getsu pointed out. But ya said sowing. Why?

'Cuz he told me last week he was working on a project.

Getsu was silent for a beat. Now, that's just cheating.

Ichigo chuckled at the tone of his Hollow Zanpakutō and the mental image it brought forth. He could see the spirit crossing his arms, a pout and scowl on his face; like a child upset that they can only have one scoop of ice cream and not two.

There was a sharp jab at his consciousness that had Ichigo falter to the side, laughing out loud at the indignant shout that followed.

Oi, I heard that!

The frisk, late-autumn wind played with his hair and clothes as Ichigo allowed gravity to pull him down. It chilled his throat and lungs with each intake of air, grazed his skin at the thinner patched of Hierro that protected his body.

A new signature brushed his periphery. Ichigo twisted, getting his feet back under him and slowing his descent. A Hollow? He threw out another cursory Pesquisa, hoping it would reveal the location of the corrupted Soul more accurately.

Kurakara Honchou…shōtengai (shopping district).

He set off, using Sonído instead of Shunpo. Normally, he wouldn't bother but this time, he had to be quick. Because, during his use of Pesquisa, he had noticed something troubling. There was a Soul close by to where the Hollow was.

The Hollow never saw him coming. Zangetsu cleft the Hollow in twain, edge sliding through skin and bones from head to toe in one clean cut. Ichigo landed and flicked his blade, dislodging any filth from the steel. He watched the Hollow fall apart, small particles rising up from the two halves. Confident it was dead, he sheathed the katana and turned towards the Soul.

It was a woman, her raven hair pulled back in a bun. A few strands had been purposefully kept loose, following the curve of her face down to her chin. In the streetlight, Ichigo noticed a few silver lines shimmering through.

But there was another silver shimmer that caught his attention, her Chain of Fate. It didn't hang loose on her chest. Ichigo followed the chainlinks, down to the ground and then back behind the Soul. It snaked over the pavement, going around the corner of the building. On closer inspection, it was wrapped around the shop.

A Jibakurai? Haven't seen one of those in a while. Sheathing his zanpakutō, Ichigo knelt down before her. He thought about his family and friends, his face softening at the happy memories he had with them. Only then, did he address the Soul. 'Are you alright?'

The woman looked at him, still a bit shook up from the encounter. She had a slight frown on her face, one he had seen on many people in his life. She was confused about him, and maybe a little scared. With a shaking hand, she pushed her glasses up a bit.

'You…you can see me'. She said it as a statement, not a question. Her eyes looked him over, adjusting the frame to get a sharper image as she took in his appearance. 'Are you—Are you dead, too?'

'No, I'm a Shinigami', Ichigo told. 'I'm here to help you cross over'.

The woman's eyes widened. Large grey staring at him but not with fear. Surprise? Wonder, maybe?

'A Shinigami', she repeated beneath her breath. Her gaze flicked past him to where the Hollow had landed. It had long since disintegrated into spiritual particles, leaving no trace of its existence. 'What was that? What happened to it?'

'That was a Soul that hasn't been helped in time', Ichigo explained. 'A Hollow'.

There was a slight crease in her brows at his words. The woman opened her mouth but closed it before she could voice her thoughts. She shook her head instead, taking a deep breath before focusing back on Ichigo.

Or, she had planned to. A glimpse of red caught her eye in the dim streetlights and derailed her gaze to Ichigo's hip. Soft grey brows shot up, lifting the resignation off her face.

'Oh!' She leaned to the side to get a better view of the scabbard. 'You have a katana'.

Ichigo looked down at his right, seeing his zanpakutō hanging from his obi. His hand kept the end of the scabbard from making contact with the pavement, while simultaneously preventing the head of the katana from digging into his side. With one brow raised, he turned back to the Jibakurai before him.

'Yes, I do'.

'You used them to kill the...the Hollow, right?' She clasped her hands together, eyes brightening with a flame of passion. 'May I see them?'

Ichigo blinked. He had gotten a lot of reactions to his zanpakutō. Most Souls pointed and shouted, screamed in fear and ran away. This woman, however... looked almost ecstatic.

'Uhm... sure'. Ichigo shifted his weight back and drew the blade from its sheath. The streetlight reflected against the steel and the woman's eyes gained a similar shine. Ichigo held out his zanpakutō horizontally for the Jibakurai to look. 'Don't touch him'.

The woman gave him an odd look he couldn't place and nodded. She laid her hands on her lap and let her eyes glide over the katana presented to her. The look of wonder morphed to consideration.

'You refer to your katana as a "him"' the woman mused, eyes never leaving the weapon. 'I take it he has a name then?'

'Zangetsu', Ichigo answered. 'Written with the kanji for "slaying" and "moon"'.

Her gaze shifted up briefly to catch his. 'I've never heard of that name before', she mused. 'It is a good one. Very strong'.

'Uhm...thank you?'

'The blade is pristine', she mumbled, ignoring the uncertain response. 'How long do you have him for?'

'Uh...' Ichigo thought about it. His powers had awakened when he was fifteen and he was now nearing his twenties. Minus the two and a half years in which I had no access to them... does the first year even count? I didn't have an asauchi back then. '... almost a year now', he decided on.

The woman hummed, 'And I take it he is the main weapon you use against those Hollows?'

'Yes'.

'A year of regular and intense use', she murmured to herself. 'And not even a scratch...' She looked up at him, 'What do you use to clean him?'

'Oh, uhm...'

The woman gave him a look, one edging on a thunderstorm. Ichigo gave an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

'I have never cleaned him'.

'What?!' Anger, horror and shock were wrapped in those four letters.

'He's a special kind of katana!' Ichigo tried, raising both hands in defence. Which probably didn't come across as defensive as it should since he still had Zangetsu in his right. 'He can't rust!'

'That's no excuse!' The woman argued. 'Cleaning is about more than mere maintenance. It's about showing your respect to the one who made him. About showing your respect toward him for being your weapon and shield. The least you can do is clean him!'

Ichigo flinched back from her. She may be a powerless Jibakurai, but what she lacked in spiritual energy she made up for in presence.

The woman settled back, taking a deep breath to calm herself. 'Now then, do you care about him?' she asked, eying the katana in his hand.

'O-of course I do!'

'I can teach you how to properly clean your katana. How to treat him with the respect he deserves', she told. 'That is…if you are willing to learn'.

Oh, he was willing. Ichigo wouldn't have asked around a few months back if that hadn't been the case. It was just that everyone had waved him off. They'd all looked at him as if he had grown a third head, all telling him the same thing.

"It isn't necessary".

But now? With someone, who has experience with weapons and their maintenance, offering to teach him? Ichigo couldn't decline.

Ichigo sheathed his blade. 'I am'.

The woman smiled, her stern expression breaking like glass into a smile. 'Then I will be your sensei for the next hour', she said. 'My name is Akiyama Hiruma, may I have yours, Shinigami-sama?'

'Kurosaki Ichigo', Ichigo answered. 'And there is no need for "sama", Sensei'.

'But you are a God of Death, are you not?'

'We are no Gods', Ichigo told. 'We merely guide the lost Souls to the Afterlife and protect those who are still alive'.

'If you insist', Hiruma relented. When she made to stand, Ichigo beat her to it to offer his hand. She gave him a semi-annoyed but appreciative look and took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.

'I do'.

Hiruma patted her knees to dust off her long skirt. 'Well then, Kurosaki-san. If you would follow me'. She beckoned him as she turned around and headed to the door. When Ichigo didn't immediately follow, she huffed. Without any reservation of touching a "God", she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him along with surprising strength. 'Come on'.

Ichigo stumbled behind her through the wooden door. Hiruma didn't let go once they were inside, continuing to tug at his wrist with each step. Ichigo didn't mind much, allowing the Jibakurai to guide him to wherever she had in mind.

As he was dragged deeper into the store, Ichigo took the opportunity to look around. In his time, he had never been to this store before. He had walked past it often enough, glanced at the various trinkets at display in passing but never stopped to take a look or go inside. Something he regretted now he was pulled along to the back.

Ichigo noticed something when they passed an open door. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look but was pulled along before he could discern any noticeable features.

Hiruma brought him to a simple room hidden behind a curtain. It contained a low table with a cushion on each side. Against the left wall stood a large cabinet with various drawers and a weapon stand on which a katana was displayed. The other walls had more weapon racks fit for different weapons, some were occupied others were not.

Only now did Hiruma let go of his wrist and gestured to the table. 'Please, take a seat while I gather the required equipment'.

Ichigo chanced another glance at the chain hanging from her chest. If memory served, Rukia had told him Jibakurao could take months-sometimes even years-before the Encroachment would finish. So he had plenty of time to humour an old Soul before sending her over to Soul Society. It wasn't like there was much else to do.

At the thought of Encroachment, Ichigo felt resentment flare in the back of his head. He frowned, Why do I suddenly have the urge to strangle Kisuke?

'Kurosaki-san?'

A hand appeared in his unfocused line of sight, drawing his attention away from his trailing thoughts. Ichigo blinked, the resentment towards the shady shopkeep fading as he looked down at Hiruma. She had a tray with various items paced upon them in her hands and a thoughtful look on her face.

'Is everything alright, Kurosaki-san?'

'Yeah, I'm fine', Ichigo waved off, taking place on a cushion. 'I got a bit distracted, is all'.

'I'm not keeping you from your work, am I?' Hiruma asked as she put the tray down.

'No, not at all', Ichigo assured. 'If something comes up, I'll deal with it'.

Hiruma nodded in acceptance of his answer and knelt down. Her hands were a blur as she put everything where she needed it to be. Ichigo watched her work, blindly undoing the knot that kept his zanpakutō tied to his obi.

Once done, Hiruma raised to her feet and headed back to the cabinet. She paused, giving a slight bow towards the katana before lifting it from its display with both hands.

Ichigo noted her gait was different when she walked back. Her back was more straight and her paces more even. As if she were holding a bowl filled to the brim with water.

She glided to her knees, landing softly on the cushion on the opposite side of the table. With reverence, did she place the katana on the small standard on the table.

'I shall teach you the traditional way of cleaning a katana', Hiruma told. 'The way it is done today isn't less effective but I prefer the traditional manner'.

Ichigo nodded, prompting her to continue.

'For the traditional way of performing maintenance you will need: washi, choji oil, and an uchiko', Hiruma explained, pointing at each item as she named them. 'However, if you cannot get these on short notice, you can also use lint-free or paper towels, mineral or machine oil, and talcum powder'.

Hiruma took a piece of washi and put a bit of choji oil on it. 'The first thing you do is prepare your cleaning area. Once you draw your katana, you cannot put it down', she told. 'Repeat that back to me'.

There was a sharp edge to her demand that had Ichigo swallow hard. Hiruma somehow managed to strike the same chord of trepidation as Yoruichi and Rukia.

Caution was a must.

'Uhm— Prepare the equipment before you take the sword from its scabbard', Ichigo said. 'Never put the katana down once it is drawn'.

The hardness faded from her face, 'Good'. Satisfied with the oiled washi, Hiruma placed it down on the table and reached for the katana. 'Katanas are made for battle, nothing else'. With an ease Ichigo hadn't expected from her, Hiruma pulled the blade from its sheath. 'Their place is in your hand or in their scabbard'.

The blade wasn't flawless. It had patches of discolouration. Tiny nicks broke the streamlined edge of the steel, giving it an almost serrated appearance. Still, it was clear the weapon had been cared for and the metal reflected with crystal clarity.

'This is Meisō', she told, showing him the katana with the curve of the blade up. 'My wife bought her from a man who had inherited her. He had no use for her and brought her here'. Hiruma angled the katana to give them both a different angle to look at. 'He didn't take care of her, and we assumed his father hadn't done so, either. So, my wife made this one her practice katana. To give her the love and respect she deserves'.

There was a soft smile on Hiruma's lips as she spoke. Her eyes shone with fondness as she looked at the blade. She twisted her left hand to up-end the scabbard, giving it gentle shakes.

'Next, you shake the scabbard to empty it out from any debris that has found its way in. If you suspect there to be some in that won't come out, you can tap it against another surface'. To show him, she tapped it against the table. nothing trailed down but neither suspected as such. 'Be gentle with it. There is no need to damage the scabbard'.

Ichigo nodded. Hiruma placed the scabbard back on the standard on the table, freeing her left hand.

'Step three is to wipe off any dirt or oil that may be on the blade'. Hiruma twisted her hand, turning the curved edge away from her. With her left, she picked up the dry washi and laid it on the base of the katana. 'Hold the katana like this, with the edge away. To prevent any accidental injuries, you place your thumb against the back of the blade, with a part of the washi between'.

With three fingers did she press down on the washi and slowly moved it along the length of steel. 'There is no need to rush. Repeat this until you have removed all dirt and oil. It is very important there is no oil left. Uchikos are a delicate tool that gets clogged very easily'.

Once she had wiped off the lather of oil, Hiruma balanced the washi on her fingers and pressed it up against the bottom half of the blade. 'Never turn the edge towards yourself. The edge is meant for those you need to cut down, not the wielder of the katana'.

The washi was guided along the steel with precision, the katana barely wavering as she applied pressure up against it. If Ichigo had any doubts Hiruma was a master when it came to weapon maintenance, it would certainly be blown away now. Hiruma kept the katana level with a single hand, something that could only be achieved with years of practice.

Hiruma put the washi down and slightly angled the blade to inspect both sides. She nodded in approval of her own work and looked at Ichigo 'Please repeat everything I have told you so far'.

'Prepare everything that is needed for cleaning. Once the katana is removed from the scabbard, you can shake any debris from it', Ichigo reiterated. 'Keep the edge pointed away from yourself. Gently wipe off any dirt and oil'.

The woman smiled, 'Very good'. She picked up the uchiko and showed it. 'This contains powder. By gently tapping it against the blade, it will coat it in a thin layer'. With care, Hiruma let the katana go up against the uchiko. It bounced off against it, leaving a bit of white behind on the steel. 'Continue until the whole blade is covered'.

'Do you have any questions so far?' Hiruma asked as she worked, not taking her eyes off the katana.

'No, your instructions are very clear', Ichigo replied.

'That's good to hear', Hiruma said. 'This step isn't necessary. You don't have to give your katana a powder coat at every cleaning. I suggest doing it at least once every three months but to each their own'. By now, she had completely covered the blade in white. She placed the uchiko down and picked up another washi. 'Next, you wipe off the powder'.

Ichigo observed Hiruma as she worked, paying attention to the way her hand moved the washi. He noticed the slight tension in her fingers as she exerted pressure on the blade. The way her face was presenting pure concentration but her eyes were shining with love and joy.

To watch a master practice their craft was mesmerising.

Hiruma hummed in satisfaction, placing the washi down and raising the katana up to observe. Ichigo's eyes followed the steel, his lips parting in wonder as he saw the result of Hiruma's cleaning.

'She's beautiful'.

'She is, isn't she?' Hiruma agreed, smiling brightly at the compliment. 'If you want to show off your katana, now is the time'.

'I can see why'.

The smile became a grin, 'The last step is applying a thin layer of oil to protect it against rusting'. Hiruma switched the washi for the one she had prepared. 'It's the same as before. Edge away and light pressure'.

With each wipe, the blade shimmered more and more. 'Cleaning your katana isn't a difficult or time-consuming task. A mere five minutes of your time is all a katana needs after they have been used'. Hiruma frowned, though it didn't quite erase the joy from her eyes. 'Katanas are made to kill those who threaten what we hold dear. Made by smiths who put their time and skill into their craft. Katanas become an extension of ourselves in battle and need to be treated as such'.

Hiruma let the washi go along the bottom side one last time before placing it down. She took the scabbard from the holder and sheathed the blade. Keeping the katana level, Hiruma rose to her feet and returned her to her proper place on the cabinet. Again, she put her hands together and bowed to the weapon.

After her soft prayer, Hirume turned around and looked at Ichigo.

'Let's see if you've paid attention. Now it's your turn'.

#

TO BE CONTINUED

BLEACH - Tite Kubo

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Hiruma (昼間) = Sunrise

Akiyama (秋山) = Autumn mountain/ hill

Washi (和紙) = a kind of paper. Washi is made using fibres from the inner bark of the gampi tree, the mitsumata shrub (Edgeworthia chrysantha), or the paper mulberry (kōzo) bush.

Meisō (瞑想) = Meditation