HALCYON DAYS
Volume Two: Retrograde Masquerade
Chapter Seven
A light chill swept through the Sixth Division Barracks that morning. Renji insisted on delivering Captain Kuchiki's breakfast personally. Holding the tray with both hands, he slid open the shoji with his big toe and stepped in, only to find Byakuya upright in bed and going through mail.
"You're up already?" Renji remarked with surprise.
The captain had arrived back the previous evening seemingly comatose from his Reikinbaku-ito training. Yet here he was, casually sorting letters a mere eight hours later.
"We've received special instructions from the Shisonka," Byakuya said, holding up an ornate parchment. "They have forbidden you from using Bankai during the Jūsankentaikai."
"Oh?" Renji blushed, setting the tray of steamed rice and Kobachi beside the bed. "They really said that?"
"They believe it would give you an unfair advantage and spoil the competition," Byakuya continued, folding the letter up and setting it aside. "You will have to try and win with your Shikai alone."
He reached over for his rice, his hands trembling with fatigue. Much to his annoyance, Renji plucked up the bowl and handed it to him. Byakuya begrudgingly accepted the dish.
"Do these orders displease you?" the captain asked.
"I mean, I would have prefer to give it my all," Renji admitted. "Limiting myself doesn't seem like the warrior's way."
Byakuya's eyes narrowed with disdain.
"You will be competing against warriors who have honed their current, honest level with more experience and even greater skill." he said ruefully. "You would dishonor them and the Sixth Company by trying to win with an amateur Bankai that you achieved through underhanded means."
Renji's face sunk into a grimace.
Underhanded means.
"Well then I guess Shikai's good enough for me," he grumbled.
Gym class was in session at Karakura High School, with the field's grass still moist from morning dew. Ichigo dashed across the slick ground and brought his cleat smashing against a rolling soccer ball.
The sphere rocketed straight across half the field and whipped right past Tetsuo Momohara's head. The goalie blinked in stunned amazement and looked back to see the ball still spinning against the net. Another point to Kurosaki's team; the standing score was 7-0.
Ichigo had always been a gifted athlete, but his prowess shot through the roof ever since he became a Shinigami Deputy. Even in his human body, all of the coordination and reflexes he had honed through training gave him Olympian prowess. Little did everyone know, he was actually holding back on his awe-inspiring kicks for fear of ripping a hole through the goal net.
"Sheesh, nice shot, Kurosaki," remarked Satoda Arai, the appointed team captain who also happened to be vice president of Karakura High School's soccer club. "Y'know, we could really use you on the team."
"Not interested," Ichigo replied breathlessly, already jogging off to run defense.
All that talent wasted on such a dick, Satoda thought.
Chad, with his burly legs exposed beneath tight-fitting soccer shorts, watched from the opposing net, playing as team goalie.
Ichigo's become a real showoff, he thought. And to think I used to be first pick in class matches.
Ichigo regained control of the ball and darted it back towards Tetsuo, only for Tatsuki to leap up from behind and kick him square across the head. The Strawberry yelped and somersaulted through the air before face-planting into the dirt.
Keigo, clad in a referee uniform, irately blew his whistle and threw up a red card.
"Foul play!" he declared. "You're out, Arisawa!"
Tatsuki gave a shrug and skipped away to the sidelines, looking thoroughly satisfied. Ichigo nursed his goose egg and watched her stride off, understanding full well that that was payback for the day before, when he shamed Orihime for her outfit.
Tatsuki returned to the bleachers, her teammates shooting her disapproving looks. The captain surveyed their remaining players and pointed at Shinji.
"Hirako, you're up!"
Tatsuki grimaced while watching Shinji take to the field. The guy still gave her the creeps.
"Sorry about my teammate back there, Ichigo," Shinji called out to the Strawberry, hustling over to him and offering a helping hand. "Whatever happened to sportsmanship, amiright?"
"I kinda had it coming, to be honest," Ichigo replied as Shinji helped hoist him back up onto his feet.
Ichigo, chastened, decided to hang back and play defense when the game resumed.
Just focus on protecting your goal, he thought. Stop trying to be the star.
The ball came spinning his way and he reared up to kick it back towards the opposing side of the field. Suddenly, when his foot was within two inches of connecting with the sphere, Shinji whipped past and daintily snaked it away from him.
Ichigo nearly spun around and fell in surprise as the new kid expertly guided the ball across the grass, charging towards Chad.
Chad braced himself, sensing immediately that this would not be a goal kick he could easily fend off. Shinji came within five yards and brought his cleat up in a swish, bending the ball in a curving arc that completely bypassed Chad's hulking frame. The ball landed against the net like a hen taking a seat on her nest.
Everyone fell into hushed silence. It was the first time anyone had ever landed a goal against Chad.
Just who the heck is this guy?! Tatsuki wondered, watching Shinji with suspicion.
The second half of the match proved that the new kid's shot was no fluke. Soon enough, the score was tied at 7-7.
Ichigo squared up against Shinji, trying desperately to kick the ball away from him. It was to no avail: Shinji artfully smuggled the sphere right past him and skipped his merry way to landing another goal against a flummoxed Chad. The unthinkable had happened: the team without Kurosaki and Sado won.
"Good game, Hirako," Ichigo panted, wearing a smile amidst the dirt smearing his face. It had been a long time since he had met his athletic match.
"Just beginner's luck," Shinji smiled back, accepting Ichigo's handshake. He pulled the Strawberry in close and whispered into his ear: "You're pretty good, too. Want to make things interesting?"
"Interesting how?" Ichigo asked.
"I'm a better offensive player than goalie, but I'm still pretty damn good at goalkeeping," Shinji grinned. "I'll give you one shot on me; if you can score the goal, I'll give ya these."
Shinji produced a mysterious-looking envelope that was sealed with a blot of wax shaped into an upturned fist. "An invitation to Karakura Town's most exclusive nightclub, the Retrograde Masquerade. There'll be booze, music, and girls – but it's strictly exclusive. Only those with an invite may enter and party. I've got two tickets; you can have my spare if you win. How's that sound?"
Ichigo frowned. "But what if you win?"
"That Satoda guy keeps asking you to join the Soccer Club, right?" Shinji recalled. "If I win, you gotta take him up on his offer. We got a deal?"
The stakes were raised high enough for Ichigo to be intrigued: the last thing he wanted was an extracurricular activity that would cut into his Shinigami Deputy duties. Losing this bet would actually cost him. That made it all the more irresistible.
"Deal."
The whole class sat back on the bleachers and watched in breathless anticipation as Ichigo and Shinji got into position. Nobody had ever gotten the better of Kurosaki on the field before, so the hype around this new kid was palpable. Classmates made low-stakes bets among themselves over who would prevail.
Chad and Tatsuki scrutinized Shinji, each for their own different reasons. Tatsuki wondered what Shinji's true intentions were while Chad grimly observed that it shouldn't even be possible for any normal person to outplay Ichigo.
I don't know if Ichigo's realized it yet, Chad thought. There is something inhuman about this Hirako Shinji.
Ichigo stood on the field and stared Shinji down, the soccer ball waiting between them.
Shinji grinned while breaking into a defensive crouch.
That's right, Kurosaki Ichigo, he thought. Win your prize and then enter my domain tonight. I'll have you all to myself, and we can finally get properly acquainted.
Ichigo took a deep breath, finding his zen and waiting for the precise moment.
Now.
He dashed forward and smashed his toe straight against the soccer ball, sending it into a flurrying spin. The ball shot forth in a spiraling trajectory, like a bird repeatedly adjusting mid-flight. Ichigo landed in a perfect split, his legs cleaving across the moist grass. He watched eagerly as his missile reached Shinji in a blink.
Shinji's bowl cut jostled when he launched up to deflect the ball, trying to catch it with his chin. Too late: the sphere missed him by an inch and smashed through the net, burning a smoking hole straight through it. The goalpost skidded back a yard, like a leaf carried by wind.
The entire class's faces roved in unison as they followed the soccer ball's trajectory across the field, over the fence, and into the faculty parking lot. It landed onto the pavement with a crunch, mercifully missing any of the teachers' cars.
"Nice shot, Ichigo!" Shinji panted, hands on his knees. "You got me good."
He trotted over to the splayed-out Ichigo and produced the spare Retrograde Masquerade ticket.
"You won this fair and square."
"No I didn't," Ichigo huffed, glaring up at him accusingly. "You threw that match, didn't you?"
Shinji frowned.
How the hell does he know I held back? Kid must have the senses of a hawk.
"Look, believe what you want, but you won a ticket to the best party in town," Shinji insisted, shoving the envelope into Ichigo's hands. "The address is inscribed inside. I'll see you there tonight."
"I know you let me win!" Ichigo barked, springing back up to his feet. "Just who the hell are you, Hirako Shinji?"
"What is your deal, dumbass?" Shinji cried with exasperation. "I just invited you to an underground music scene and you're complaining? Do you hate fun? Are you a grandpa at heart or something?"
"I don't have time for something like that," Ichigo gritted, squeezing the envelope in his fist. "I just wanted to prove I could beat you."
"Well congratulations, you beat me!" Shinji hissed. "Now stop whining like a sore winner and accept your prize!"
Ichigo wordlessly stomped past Shinji and over to Keigo.
"Here, Keigo," he said, shoving the envelope into his hands. "Take this; I don't want it. Have fun tonight."
Shinji, completely dumbstruck, watched Ichigo trudge off the field.
What kind of a 15-year-old rejects a party invitation?!
"Looks like it's gonna be me and you at the club tonight, Shinji old pal!" Keigo said excitedly, throwing an arm over the stone-faced Hirako's shoulder. "Say, can you wingman me? I get a little nervous around –"
Shinji snatched the invitation from Keigo's hand and tore it up in a frenzy, his face turning scarlet with rage.
"That's it! I've had it with this mission! I quit! I quit high school!"
The entire class watched the irate newbie storm off the field. Keigo stood in stunned silence, looking down at the torn remnants of his party invite. He looked back at the rest of his classmates and gave a baffled shrug.
"You can just quit high school?"
"What do you mean they've gone missing?" Yamamoto grumbled.
He eyed Retsu Unohana from his chair while attendants massaged his exhausted muscles. He had only undergone Reikinbaku-ito two days beforehand and was still recovering. The old man's sinewy torso was crisscrossed with battle scars, the deep grooves attesting to countless wars.
"The entire squadron has vanished without a trace," Unohana repeated, her head bowed ever so slightly. "SDRI lost contact with them shortly after they entered the World of the Living."
Earlier that day, SDRI received an SOS from a Shinigami patrol in the World of the Living. The message explicitly asked for medical help after a costly battle with a Hollow, so Unohana dispatched six healers to go and provide relief.
The small collection of Fourth Division medics then promptly disappeared. SDRI later analyzed the original call for help and discovered that it was an expertly fabricated fraud.
"Is this Aizen's doing?" Yamamoto pressed.
"Perhaps," Unohana replied softly. "But these were six of my healers. They aren't fighters. My assumption is that they have been kidnapped rather than killed. Which begs the question: what need does Aizen have of our healers?"
The chamber was cavernous and illuminated by a desultory light, as if carved out from moon rock. A polished Gramophone warbled from the corner, playing an ecstatic operetta.
Into the fire I'm burning
I will give up all I have to give
Don't be afraid of the darkest hour
I'll shine for you.
Ereda Kyutari never thought he would be forced to treat Soul Society's most wanted man. Yet there he was, trying to heal Sōsuke Aizen.
The nightmare began when SDRI received an emergency request for medical assistance in the World of the Living. Ereda, the Sixth Seat of the Fourth Division, led five healers to go and provide assistance.
When they arrived, they weren't greeted by Shinigami but by a hulking beast who looked like a Hollow. They never stood stand a chance and were subdued with ease, then taken through what seemed to be some sort of alien portal.
It had all been a blur; all Ereda could remember was passing through a void and being delivered at Kaname Tōsen's feet. He and his men were then escorted through a series of dark passageways until they were brought before Aizen himself, sitting on a stone-carved chair and looking gravely ill.
The medics were told to heal him or be put to the sword. Some resisted, but Ereda ordered them all to comply. So they took turns, one by one, with each attempt proving fruitless.
Ereda was try again, his golden Kaidō glowing like candlelight over Aizen's injuries. The traitor captain looked horrific: his right eye was completely bloodshot while a trail of burst veins scrawled like a purple spiderweb from his throat down to his right arm. Ereda tried, but the wounds would not heal.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do," he admitted, his palms slick with sweat. "I've never seen an ailment like this before. Whatever is happening to you cannot be repaired by Kaidō."
Tōsen unsheathed Suzumushi and brought its edge within an inch of the medic's neck.
"Are you actually trying to heal Lord Aizen, or are you playing us for fools?" the blind man seethed.
Ereda gulped, his bobbing adam's apple close to grazing the blade's edge. He had found Tōsen to be such a reassuring figure back when the blind Shinigami was a member of the Gotei 13. But now, Tōsen just seemed terrifying.
Into the fire
My courage is so
My spirit passed to you
"He is making an honest effort, Kaname."
Aizen rose to his full height, gazing down at Ereda with congenial warmth. He reached down and cupped the medic's chin with the upmost gentleness.
"If he could heal me, he would. He has tried his best. Not just because the lives of his compatriots are on the line, but because he comes from the Fourth Division and swore an oath to treat all Shinigami's injuries. He is a noble man who upholds his vow to heal the sickly, no matter the circumstance."
Ereda looked up in awe at Aizen. The traitor still had the warmest voice he had ever heard. The medic felt a profound relief wash over him.
I have no choice
My own sacrifice
Is something I have to do
"I thank you for your integrity, Kyutari Ereda," Aizen said sweetly. "However, it seems that you and your subordinates won't be of any help to me, and we can't just return you all to Soul Society. How do we solve this dilemma, Kaname?"
Tōsen's Zanpakutō cleaved cleanly across Ereda's neck, severing his head from the stump. Aizen held the healer's disembodied face for a moment, studying its shocked expression, then dropped it onto the floor with a fleshy thunk. He cast his chestnut eyes over to the remaining medics and watched them cower.
"I thank you all for your efforts."
On cue, Tōsen flash-stepped past the squadron, leaving fatal cuts carved into each of them. All five dead Shinigami simultaneously collapsed into a heap.
Into the fire I'm burning
I will give up all I have to give
Tōsen whipped the blood clean from his katana and sheathed it shut.
"I will go fetch someone to clear out the carcasses." he said. "Please conceal your wounds before they arrive; no one can see you like this. Ichimaru least of all."
Tōsen made his leave while Aizen stood alone amidst the massacre. Paying the bodies no mind, he examined his own hand with clinical fascination. It was like a corpse's limb, purple and withered.
Don't be afraid of the darkest hour
I'll shine for you
The moon beamed in the night sky, bathing Ichigo's silhouette in silver light. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, fast-approaching a Hollow.
There's more of these freaks popping up than ever before, he thought. I wonder if it has anything to do with Aizen?
The Hollow was grazing along a children's playground of all places. The beast was green and the size of a truck, with a spiky vertebrae running down its back. It noticed Ichigo's approach and reared up its head, letting out a deafening snarl.
The Shinigami Deputy reached back for Zangetsu, the massive blade shrugging off its bandage scabbard. It was time to take out the trash.
Suddenly, a shadow whipped right past Ichigo and punctured straight through the Hollow, cutting it cleanly in half.
In that instant, Ichigo felt a massive spiritual pressure. He hadn't sensed anything comparable since he left the Soul Society. The spike in power vanished as quickly as it had appeared, only apparent in the precise moment the mysterious interloper cut through the Hollow.
The wailing monster withered away while its killer stood poised beneath the embers, holding a red-hilt katana aloft. This interloper was a familiar silhouette, 5'9" in height and clad in a Karakura High School uniform. Ichigo could recognize the blonde bowl cut peeking out around the edges of the Shinigami's white hood.
"Sorry to steal your kill like that," a distorted voice warbled. "I guess I'm better than you at soccer and Hollow slaying, huh?"
The figure looked back and revealed a skull in the shape of a pharaoh's mask. Intricate, vertical grooves ran across the bone-white visor, with gray irises peeking out through completely black eyes, like chinks of stone looming in a dark void.
"Who are you?" Ichigo asked, his grip instinctively tightening around Zangetsu's hilt.
"Don't you recognize your own classmate, Ichigo?" the skull replied.
The stranger waved a hand across his face, the white mask melting away on command. The boney material gave way to Shinji Hirako's grinning visage.
"Shinji?" Ichigo cried incredulously. "What the hell is going –?"
"Shh," Shinji shushed, bringing a finger to his lips. "Don't shout, Ichigo. They're listening."
Before Ichigo could retort, Shinji was already beside him and grabbing the scruff of his Shihakushō, whisking him away in a galvanizing gust of Shunpo. Everything around Ichigo was a blur until he was slammed up against a brick wall in an alleyway.
"I wanted to do this more covertly, without showing my powers," Shinji whispered, his head bowed and palm pinning Ichigo's shoulder to the wall. "Y'see, this particular Gigai suppresses my Reiatsu when I'm at ease, but there's no stopping some of it from leaking out when I flex. I don't like announcing myself in public, where they can detect me. Understand?"
"What do you want?"
"I just want us to be friends," Shinji grinned. "I tried to break the ice through your human life first, but turns out you're just not that interested in getting to know everyday mortal people anymore, huh?"
"You were wearing a Hollow mask back there," Ichigo said. "What are you? A Hollow or a Shinigami?"
"I'm both," Shinji chuckled.
He finally lifted his eyes to meet Ichigo's stupefied stare, his smile broadening into a dementedly wide crescent.
"I'm a Visored. Just like you."
