HALCYON DAYS
Volume Two: Retrograde Masquerade

Chapter Four

Sajin Komamura sat crosslegged in his quarters, staring at his helmet. Kenpachi Zaraki had destroyed it during their confrontation several days beforehand, revealing the Seventh Division Captain's lycan features that were hiding beneath.

Now the helm was reforged and perched back on its mantle. Sajin was weighing whether or not to don it again and conceal his face. He had largely hidden himself for the past week; now was the time to decide whether to return to the status quo or risk forever losing the confidence of his troops.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Tetsuzaemon entering.

"Captain Komamura, everyone is in formation outside awaiting you," he announced.

Sajin winced, feeling deeply hideous. Tetsuzaemon saw the uncertainty in his captain's eyes and looked over at the restructured helmet.

"Captain, if I may speak out of turn: it was kismet that you lost your mask just when Aizen revealed his treachery," he suggested. "Several Shinigami proved themselves false that day, but you have only been exposed as true. Your men will never think less of you. Icertainly don't!"

Komamura closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Tetsuzaemon. I'm ready."

The Captain rose to meet his lieutenant and together they exited out onto the balcony that overlooked the Seventh Division Barracks' courtyard. When Komamura stepped out into the sunlight, his gathered soldiers all fell into stunned silence, never having seen their superior's unshielded face before. The rumors were true.

"He's one of those Cursed Ones," a grunt murmured fretfully.

There was a protracted quiet as everyone waited for the wolf to speak. Komamura braced himself while gazing out at the hundreds of faces, recognizing each and every one of them. He cleared his throat and feigned absolute confidence.

"Shinigami of the Seventh Division, allow me to reintroduce myself," Komamura began, his somber voice carrying across the courtyard. "I summoned you all here today so that you can look upon my face and understand where I come from: a disgraced lineage of Shinigami who forsook their vow to Soul Society.

"If you cannot bear the shame of serving under someone with my heritage... you may leave. You will be assigned to new divisions and there will be no recriminations. You have my word."

The offer was met with silence. Tetsuzaemon held his breath, fearing that there was about to be a mass walkout.

Instead, only eight soldiers broke formation and left, none of them possessing the decency to even pay Komamura a parting glance. He watched each of them exit, feeling a pang of rejection before returning his golden eyes onto the remaining sea of officers. He grit his fangs and summoned his full charisma.

"To those of you who remain: allow me to reintroduce myself once more!" he bellowed. "I am your Captain, Komamura Sajin! The same Komamura Sajin who has led you for all these years! The same warrior who would readily bleed for any of you! Will you still bleed for me?!"

The question was met with another eerie pause. Tetsuzaemon looked out at the crowd nervously.

Finally, one Shinigami unsheathed his Zanpakutō and hoisted it up.

"I will bleed for you, Captain Komamura!" the soldier shouted. "I will bleed for you in the war to come, and all the wars after!"

The gesture was followed by another soldier raising her sword, then another, and gradually the entire crowd unsheathed their blades and rattled them in unison. A roar of solidarity rose up from the courtyard, everyone pledging their allegiance to Sajin Komamura.

Tetsuzaemon peered out at the sea of chanting Shinigami and spotted the very same grunt he had reprimanded for snark just a day beforehand. That soldier was pledging his allegiance, too.

Komamura looked down at his cheering subordinates, his heart swelling with gratitude.

I will never wear that accursed helmet ever again.


Ichigo sat down for breakfast, drowsily clinking glasses of orange juice with Yuzu.

"Thanks for helping me last night, Nii-chan!" she smiled. "I'm definitely ready, now."

"Don't mention it," Ichigo yawned.

He had arrived home the night beforehand to find Yuzu feeling overwhelmed by an impending quiz, so he dropped everything to walk her through the class material. Coupled with having to complete his own homework afterwards and having to slay a nighttime Hollow, he had barely gotten any sleep.

Karin grunted and flicked through the morning newspaper. She had started perusing the news every morning while Ichigo was off fighting in the Soul Society and had made it a ritual. Ichigo figured it was an affectation she must have adopted to look more mature. She was a Kurosaki, after all. It's what they do.

"Hey, Dad!" Ichigo yelled to the other room. "I'm ready for you to untie this knot on my uniform!"

He lifted up the charm that Isshin had fastened to his school shirt two days beforehand. His father was stubbornly insisting he keep it, despite his protestations.

"No thanks, you keep it!" Isshin called back with a singsong voice from the other room. "It looks good on you!"

It makes me look lame, Ichigo lamented.


Tōshirō Hitsugaya arrived at the First Division Barracks' dojo feeling equal parts determination and trepidation. It was his turn to undergo Reikinbaku-ito training, a challenge he did not take lightly. It was understood amongst all of the captains that this would be the most strenuous regimen they had ever undergone.

霊金爆糸 Reikinbaku-ito (Soul-Enriching Thread)

Hitsugaya was luxuriating in the dojo's sauna, trying to let go of all tension while feeling the hot spring's heat penetrating deep into his core. His spiky white hair damp and drooping, he peered through the steam and spotted a familiar silhouette kneeling five yards away. Retsu Unohana had arrived to inspect him.

"Come here, Captain Hitsugaya," Unohana requested with her gentle, maternal voice.

It was one of the most terrifying commands Hitsugaya had ever been given. He emerged from the pool dripping wet, his skin bleached pink from the heat, and trudged over to the Fourth Division Captain. He knelt down, meeting her eye-to-eye. Unohana reached out and traced her fingers along his face, examining his Reiryoku distribution. She hooked her thumbs under his lymph nodes.

"Say 'ah,' please."

"... Ahh," Hitsugaya sheepishly complied.

There was concern that Hitsugaya, along with several other captains, had not recovered enough from their injuries sustained on the day of Aizen's defection. Yamamoto ordered Unohana to inspect each of them and determine whether they were fit enough to undergo Reikinbaku-ito.

Hitsugaya felt scalded by Unohana's scrutiny. Her gaze was unnerving while she traced her fingertip down his temple, applying pressure and prompting him to turn his face slightly to the side.

"I apologize for not having yet offered you my condolences for Lieutenant Hinamori's death" Unohana broached, her voice sweet as honeycomb. "I regret that she was beyond my help."

Hitsugaya averted Unohana's eyes for a while before bringing himself to look at her.

"If you weren't there, I would have died along with her," he replied. "You saved my life, Captain Unohana."

Unohana betrayed a faint smile before shifting into a stern look.

"A word of caution: do not let her death motivate your sword," she advised. "Vengeance will dull your blade while sharpening its handle. Fight with hatred and you will only succeed in defeating yourself. Understand?"

Hitsugaya's eyes widened. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

"Good," Unohana affirmed. "Your wounds have healed sufficiently. You are ready, Captain Hitsugaya."

Unohana rose back to her full height, masked attendants flanking her. Hitsugaya eyed the razor-thin thread the attendants were carrying, preparing himself. The procedure was going to be painful.

His screams were heard throughout the entire dojo. The surgeons were considerate enough to fit him with the Reikinbaku-ito as fast as they could, but there was no getting around the operation's horrific pain. It felt akin to vivisection. Hitsugaya was not given any painkiller for fear that it would dull his senses; training would have to begin swiftly to maximize the thread's beneficial properties.

Roughly one hundred years beforehand, the Gotei 13 suffered a calamity that practically halved their captain roster. The Shisonka was concerned that their weakened military force wouldn't be able to respond to any credible threats, and so they made a requisitions request up to the Soul King's Palace. They were sent back a gift from the Great Weave Guardian herself: a small bundle of Reikinbaku-ito.

The divine thread was a drastic training handicap that was to be used only when the Gotei's forces needed to be at their peak physical condition.

When woven through a soul's Reiryoku system, Reikinbaku-ito reoriented its wearer's Reiatsu distribution, gradually shutting it off entirely. Fatigue would set in, followed by a struggle to complete even simple movements.

However, the more arduously a Shinigami trained under those conditions, the greater their Reiryoku would grow. By the time the Reikinbaku-ito dissolved like sugar in tea, its wearer would have either regained the zenith of their power or pushed beyond their previous limitations.

=Soul Society's stockpile of Reikinbaku-ito was finite and fleeting; there were only enough threads left to weave through seven bodies. This proved to be an adequate amount for the 10 remaining members of the Gotei 13: Unohana recused herself from combat training with no questions asked. Jūshirō Ukitake's fragile health was deemed too great a liability for him to partake. Mayuri Kurotsuchi flatly refused and met no resistance.

After twenty minutes of acclimation, Hitsugaya followed the attendants into the hallway that led into Yamamoto's own personal dojo. He rubbed a hand over his forearm, marveling at the pulsating light that shimmered through his veins, a sign that the Reikinbaku-ito was wriggling its way through his body. He could already feel his Reiatsu dimming like an oil lamp set to a simmer.

"Just a moment, Captain Hitsugaya," the lead attendant said as they came to the dojo's entrance. "Captain Kuchiki has lasted longer than we anticipated; his session is still ongoing."

They waited for an elongated beat before the attendants heard some nigh-imperceptible sound of permission and pushed open the heavy oaken doors. Hitsugaya followed them into the cavernous dojo but halted when he laid eyes on Byakuya Kuchiki.

Byakuya was hunched over, planting his bokken into the ground for ballast. He was purple with bruises and panting profusely, blood and sweat dripping down his forearms and onto his wooden katana. He spotted Hitsugaya entering and, far too proud to be seen struggling, rose back to his full height. He stood perfectly poised for a brief moment, head held high, before collapsing into a heap.

The attendants rushed over, lifted the unconscious captain up, and carried him away.

"Excellent stamina, Captain Kuchiki," remarked the First Division's third seat, Genshirō Okikiba, who strolled around the dojo with two bokken swords in hand. "You were the most stubborn trainee so far."

Okikiba's wooden katanas were cracked and stained with blood; he had evidently beaten the restricted Byakuya to a pulp. The Third Seat had a disciplinarian air about him with his handsomely stern features: slicked-back white hair with a stripe of jet black running along the mane, a well-trimmed mustache overlaying his lips. He cast his steely eyes over to Tōshirō.

"Welcome, Captain Hitsugaya. Shall we begin?"

An attendant handed Hitsugaya a bokken. He accepted the weapon and assumed a Seigan No Kamaestance, giving an affirmative nod.


"Ow, ow, ow!" Shunsui Kyōraku groaned, struggling to raise his teacup.

He sat beside Jūshirō Ukitake on a grassy hillside tucked within the Thriteenth Division's compound, both of them served with steaming mugs of Sencha tea. Ukitake was taking leisurely sips while Shunsui was unable to even bring his to his lips.

"Training will be the death of me, Jūshirō," Shunsui lamented, fully feeling the hangover from his Reikinbaku-ito sparring. His Reiatsu blooming anew, but the ordeal had left his muscles agonizingly sore. He could barely move.

"You can stop exaggerating your injuries now," Ukitake teased. "We aren't trying to impress the girls at Shin'ō Academy anymore."

Shunsui made a sour face, feeling particularly stung that Ukitake would reference their skirt chasing days. It was a sensitive subject in their friendship: while the debonair Kyōraku scion had plenty of romantic success as the academy, it was actually Ukitake who boasted a higher tally of girlfriends. Sensitive and possessing a flirting style that was supple as water, Ukitake had accrued more admirers in his younger years than just about anyone.

"You don't know what it's like, Jūshirō," Shunsui sighed indignantly. "Having those needles stuck in me was torture; absolute torture. I wonder how the others are doing..."

He had finally managed to bring his tea up for a shaky sip, only to discover that it had become lukewarm.

"I believe Okikiba is training Captain Hitsugaya right now," Ukitake noted.

"Ah, he won't complain about the pain like I have, I'm sure," he mused. "That boy is so dedicated, it's frightening."

Hitsugaya was the least experienced of the Gotei 13 captains, but he nevertheless had the potential to surpass all of them. He became the youngest Shinigami to ever gain captain rank roughly twenty years beforehand and had aggressively trained ever since to improve his technique. Hyōrinmaru was a formidable Zanpakutō, but Hitsugaya was still too young to properly harness its full capability. If he were to finally master the dragon, he would probably prove to be the mightiest Shinigami since Yamamoto.

Shunsui wistfully dumped his cold Sencha onto the grass.

"Can I get some more tea, please?" he asked sheepishly.

"Just reach over and pour yourself a fresh cup," Ukitake suggested tauntingly, nodding to the teapot that was lying between them.

Shunsui chuckled and reached for the pot, his entire body shaking from strain.

"Absolute torture, Jūshirō..."

Over his trembling fingers, he spotted Rukia Kuchiki trudging several hillsides away. She was taking another one of her mandated strolls, soaking up the Seireitei's Reishi to replenish her spiritual pressure. He grimaced with sympathy.

"So, our dear Rukia isn't gonna get to compete, huh?"

"I'm afraid not," Ukitake replied, relenting on his tease and plucking up the teapot to pour Shunsui a fresh mug. "The Jūsankentaikai's rules are plain that you must be a seated officer to fight. Rukia has taken it in stride, but I know she yearns to be recognized along with the other lieutenants."

"Poor girl," Shunsui muttered, bringing his replenished tea up for a sip and struggling not to slosh it. "You really ought to make it up to her, Jūshirō."

"I may not have a good consolation to offer, but I'll spare her embarrassment," Ukitake nodded. "I will not consign her to sticking around and feeling ostracized during the tournament. There have been disturbing reports from the World of the Living, and I believe she is uniquely suited to investigate the threat..."