HALCYON DAYS
Volume Three: Champagne Coliseum
Chapter One
Ichigo struggled but couldn't budge from the wall, his protestations muffled by Shinji's palm.
A Visored? What the hell is a Visored? Who the hell is this –
"Oh, cut it out with those 'who the hell is this guy?' eyes," Shinji sighed, releasing Ichigo's mouth and giving him a condescending pat on the cheek. "Relax. I come in peace –"
Ichigo chanced a swing of Zangetsu, only for the butcher blade to swipe across dead air. He looked around in amazement: Shinji had disappeared faster than his eyes could perceive.
"What the hell, man?" Shinji sighed from above.
Ichigo looked up and spotted the Edelweiss-looking creep standing preternaturally on the alley wall, as if his feet were suctioned to the brick.
"You're a real pain in the ass, y'know that?" Shinji growled, shouldering his katana. "Whether it's free ice cream, club tickets, or just leveling with you man to man, you're reallyagainst making new friends, huh?"
"I've already got enough friends," Ichigo gritted, squeezing Zangetsu's handle tightly. "That was a pretty crazy spiritual pressure you showed back there, but it came and went in an instant, like flipping a light switch. How'd you do that?"
Shinji grinned wide and pinched his own cheek, stretching it and then letting it snap back like a rubber band.
"I already told you; this Gigai hides my Reiatsu," he answered impishly. "It lets me walk amongst all you breathers unnoticed, but without sealing away my spiritual power for good. Modern technology's crazy, right? But this flesh suit's not so good at hiding my power when I'm fighting. I try to maintain a low profile."
"So that's why you pretended to be a student?" Ichigo pieced together. "You've been stalking me this whole time."
Shinji's grin dropped into a frown. He launched himself off from the wall and landed back on the ground in a fluid flip.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said sourly. "I was merely trying to make contact with you without stirring up any mess. Coming out here and stylin' was the last resort; I wouldn't have risked it there weren't lives on the line."
"Whose lives?"
"The lives of everybody you know," Shinji warned. "You've got a nasty parasite inside of you that's just raring to take over, dont'cha Ichigo? Without my help, you're an immediate danger to this entire town."
Ichigo's blood ran cold. The only other person who had witnessed his Hollow transformation was Byakuya Kuchiki on Sōkyoku Hill, but this Shinji character didn't seem to be associated with the Gotei 13. How could he have learned about it?
"You're the one who was wearing a Hollow's face just a minute ago," Ichigo countered. "Who do you work for? Soul Society... or Aizen?"
Shinji scrunched up an eyebrow in surprise and broke into a cackle, revealing a circular piercing looped through the center of his tongue.
"Neither!" he laughed. "I'm definitely no friend of Aizen's, but I don't answer to Soul Society, neither. I'm a Visored: a Shinigami who rides around with a Hollow in his passenger seat."
"So you're just a freak?" Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "Sorry, but I'm nothing like you."
"You think the Shinigami are gonna stay friendly when they discover your cranky side?" Shinji questioned, cocking his head inquisitively. "They'll put you down like vermin. That's how they deal with our kind."
"Stop saying our kind," Ichigo gritted. "Whatever it is you want from me... my answer's no."
With that, he vanished from the alleyway with a flash step.
He's got some impressive Hohō, Shinji thought while observing the stray newspapers that billowed in Ichigo's wake. Too bad he's slow in the mental department.
"What the hell was that?" a spiky voice squeaked from behind a nearby trashcan.
Shinji looked back and spotted two telltale blonde pigtails peeking out from behind the lopsided bin.
"Hiyori? What're you doing here?"
Hiyori Sarugaki rose up from behind the trash barrel, her face pink with annoyance. She kicked up her left sandal and caught it in mid-air. Closing the distance between them in a mere second, she brought the shoe's sole cracking down across Shinji's head with punishing force.
"I wanted to see you blow the mission with my own two eyes, just so we could skip yer excuses afterwards!" she hissed. "You didn't say any of the things we went over as a team! Oh nooo, you just had to go ahead and be all ominous, huh Mr. Big Creep Energy?"
"Hey, cut it out!" Shinji pleaded, shielding his smarting cranium.
He retreated from the alleyway while Hiyori gave chase, the pint-sized hellion smacking him repeatedly over the head.
"Ow! Ow! Owie! Stop it!"
The pixelated plane burst into flames and plunged down into the sea. The horde of alien saucers overtook the screen, continuing their invasion of the Earth unchallenged.
GAME OVER
Chad leaned back and rubbed his bleary eyes. He had been playing Invaders Must Die for hours on end. Every day he trudged out to the corner shop at 4 a.m. and played until school started, then returned immediately after class and played until he had to go home and rest. The intense practice had been taking a toll, but at least he was improving.
His vision recovered just in time to watch his new record flash across the screen.
HIGHEST SCORES OF ALL TIME
Straydog... 999,975
Strawberry... 688,345
Gigante... 550,010
Chad smiled softly: his latest score was 560,820. He had finally beaten his personal record from way back watched with pride as his new high score supplanted his original third place showing in the pantheon.
His codename, Gigante, rested a comfortable distance behind Ichigo's all-time score, codenamed Strawberry. Both of them were way behind Straydog, the mysterious and undisputed champion of the game.
"Wonder who Straydog could be," Chad remarked Ichigo after their first time playing the game.
"Beats me, but whoever he is, he's crazy good at this game," Ichigo replied. "How about we keep working at it until we knock him off his perch? You and me."
Chad's smile grew wide, his eyes turning wistful. It was a fond memory.
Takashi Murakami took a break from sweeping the floors to peek over Chad's shoulder, spying his achievement.
"Way to go, Sado!" the shopkeeper congratulated him with a backslap. "You've finally surpassed yourself!"
"It's a start," Chad replied, hanging his head. "I'm still not where I need to be."
"And where would that be?"
Chad cast the little man a weary smile.
"When Ichigo and I first met, we were competitive with each other," he explained. "We both excelled at fighting, but we didn't want to cross fists. So we tried to one-up each other here, in this shop. We cemented our friendship by playing Invaders Must Die together. We vowed to keep getting better."
"You two were pretty neck-and-neck at this game for a while, if memory serves," Takashi interjected.
"That's right," Chad nodded. "But eventually Ichigo improved to the point where I couldn't catch up with him. He never held back because he knew that would insult my pride, but match after match he would beat me by a higher and higher margin while I plateaued. I had reached my limit while he had no limit. One day, without words, we agreed to stop."
Miss Harumi stuck her head out from the back office.
"You both stopped on the day I banned the both of you for the crimes of loitering and hooliganism!" she clarified.
"Oh, let the boy speak, my love!" Takashi called back to her. "Please continue, Sado."
"No, she's right: we officially retired the game when we were banned from your store," Chad admitted, chuckling. "But we also ceased competing after that. Ichigo had already proven he was better than me, but he didn't want to rub my nose in it. I didn't mind; I was happy to keep trying. Even if I couldn't ever catch up with him."
"So how come this game's so important to you again, after all this time?" Takashi wondered.
Chad reflected on their first day back at school after returning from Soul Society, when he and Orihime accompanied Ichigo to go slay a Hollow.
"You know... I could've handled this guy by myself," Ichigo had told them. "You guys didn't have to cut class."
The comment was innocuous enough, and correct, but it lingered with Chad afterwards. It stung.
"Ichigo has an important job now, and I want to help him," he answered. "But he doesn't think he needs my help anymore. And he might be right. But I need to convince him and myself that it's possible for me to not only reach his level, but to surpass it."
He slapped a hand on the arcade tower.
"And I can't think of a better arena to prove myself in than this one."
During nighttime, the Bushishinzui Budōkan was pale and bereft of glamour. It was one of the most ancient structures in the Seireitei and its age showed throughout its cracked veneer, from its weather-beaten terraces to its craggy stadium seating.
However, when morning crested over Soul Society and shined its light onto the Bushishinzui Budōkan, its muted stone was invigorated. When basking in daylight, the amphitheater radiated a sunburnt shimmer that washed across its tiers like sloshing champagne. It was one of the great wonders of the spiritual world.
武士神髄 武道館 Bushishinzui Budōkan (Warrior's Essense Stadium)
The coliseum, 120 meters tall and 30 acres in diameter, was cloistered against the Southern Red Hollow Gate, right where the borders of the Sixth and Tenth Districts kissed. When the Jūsankentaikai commenced, a special gate that led directly into the coliseum would be lifted and Rukongai residents fortunate enough to acquire tickets would be ushered inside to watch matches from the stands.
Sui-Fēng stood at the center of the ground-level arena, gazing up at it all. She was tasked with overseeing the tournament grounds' restoration.
The captain swiped her foot across the dusty tiles before her, sending up a billow of soot.
There's six inches of dirt caked onto this ring, she surmised. Our craftsmen will need to polish every nook and cranny of this place to make it presentable for the Shisonka.
Fortunately, Captain Mayuri was gracious to loan her the Twelfth Division's laborers, who were the most exacting and speedy builders in all of Soul Society. The restoration would take less than an hour.
Marechiyo Ōmaeda ambled up beside her, using his right hand as a visor against the sunlight while he gazed up at the towering parapets encircling them.
"What a dump," he snorted. "Who even decided this tournament's worthwhile? It wouldn't be the first needless tradition in Soul Society."
Suí-Fēng's eyes nearly rolled back into her head while she resisted smacking Ōmaeda upside his.
"What's with that look, Captain?" he asked nervously, realizing he may have perturbed her.
"Do you know how I positioned myself to become Captain of the Second Division and Commander of the Onmitsukidō?" she asked rhetorically. "I set the stage for my advancement by fighting well during the last Jūsankentaikai.
"I was only a Third Seat then, but our sitting lieutenant came down with the shits and I was tapped to compete minutes before the first match. I surprised the entire Gotei 13 by making it to the semi-final round. From then on, I was paid special attention by Genryūsai. I may never have attained Bankai had I not been given the training afforded prospective captains. Do you know who else fought in that tournament?"
"I... I don't especially recall –"
"Komamura Sajin and Kuchiki Byakuya," Suí-Fēng answered. "All of us earned Soul Society's respect right here in this ring. The Jūsankentaikai is where names are made in the Gotei 13."
"Wow," Ōmaeda said softly, marveling at everything with a newfound appreciation. "So you're saying that this tournament will set me on course for a captain position?"
Suí-Fēng's face contorted into a viper's snarl. She had to hold back every fibre of her body to resist smacking Õmaeda upside the head.
"I'm saying that the Jūsankentaikai has a prestigious history, and you better apply yourself," she clarified. "All of the Tenrai-chōs will be watching."
She pointed to the four box seats spaced evenly across the coliseum.
"The north box is for Ise Clan, the east for Kuchiki Clan, south is for Shihōin Can, and the west box is for the Tsunayashiro Tenrai-chō. I forbid you from embarrassing me and Second Company in front of them all."
Ōmaeda gulped: he hadn't accounted for the possibility of stage fright. Having to fight in front of royalty was a lot of pressure.
"Is it really such a good idea to have the royals crowded in with all the Rukon rabble?" he wondered, trying to change the subject. "Shoving our best and greatest right where they'll be a stone's throw away from peasants sounds pretty foolhardy."
"Every Tenrai-chō will be accompanied by their Shikōtai guard, along with captains of the Gotei 13 as additional security," Suí-Fēng noted ruefully. "Any Rukon who comes too close will be obliterated."
"Why do we even let Rukon in here?" Ōmaeda pressed. "You could easily this entire stadium with proper Seireitei citizens."
"We let them in because it's a time-honored tradition that keeps the peace," Suí-Fēng continued. "The Jūsankentaikai has appeased the Rukongai for centuries. A few days of spectacle is enough to buy us decades of goodwill. Can you even recall the last Rukongai rebellion that came anywhere near the Seireitei?"
Ōmaeda could not recall any such rebellion. Rukongai revolts were more commonplace the farther out you traveled from the Seireitei, but it'd been a long time since the closest districts kicked up a fuss.
"Even so, this is wartime," he pouted. "You'd think we'd prioritize the Shisonka's safety over putting on a show. What if Hollows decide to attack?"
Suí-Fēng let out an exasperated sigh and gestured to the walls looming around them.
"The Bushishinzui Budōkan is built entirely from Sekkiseki," she revealed. "This whole coliseum is a Seireiheki within the Seireiheki, providing us with all the protection we need. No portal can open up inside here. When the Jūsankentaikai commences, this will be the safest place in all of Soul Society."
Ōmaeda's mouth dropped in awe. He spun around, becoming excited.
"What a place!" he clucked. "It's going to such a fitting stage for my victory –"
Suí-Fēng struck her gloating lieutenant right upside the head, sending him skidding across the field and crashing into a dilapidated latrine.
"What you were doing just now - that's exactly how I don't want you to behave in front of the Shisonka." she muttered.
Renji Abarai ventured over to the Eleventh Division Barracks to see how Ikkaku Madarame was faring in his preparations for the tournament.
"I'm doing just fine," Ikkaku chuckled while sparring with Yumichika Ayasegawa. "Win, lose... it's just gonna be a bit of fun!"
He whisked his bokken katana within a centimeter of Yumichika's beautiful face, the sheer kinetic friction from his swing singing the Fifth Seat's brow.
"Watch it!" Yumichika cried, waving the tiny cinder off of his perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Aim for the merchandise again and I'll stop sparring with you!"
Ikkaku cracked a devilish grin and shouldered his wooden training sword, returning his attention to Renji.
"We're gonna give some pampered brats a show and then get right back to preparing for war." he concluded. "No big deal, Abarai."
"I have a hard time believing you'd be fine with losing," Renji said, his arms crossed and brow furrowed in skepticism. "Last I checked, you love competition."
Ikkaku responded by jabbing his bokken straight at Renji's face, only to stop short within an inch of his nose. Renji refused to even flinch.
"You're not allowed to kill in the Jūsankentaikai," Ikkaku pointed out. "What kinda competition doesn't let you fight to the death? This is gonna be kabuki. But don't worry about me, Abarai: I'm gonna be in tip-top shape. Kurosaki Ichigo woke something up in me. From what I've heard, he woke you up too, eh?"
Renji allowed himself a faint grin.
"I'm gonna fight to win, if that's what you're asking. No need to give him all the credit."
"Ha!" Ikkaku laughed before returning to his parries and swings against Yumichika.
Renji watched the two officers go at it. He felt conflicted over whether to broach the topic of Bankai. It wasn't like he'd be violating Ikkaku's privacy: Yumichika knew about it, too. But the whole conversation was moot since the Shisonka banned Bankai from the tournament.
No point in bringing it up, I guess.
"Guu! Choki! Paa!" Kiyone Kotetsu and Sentarō Kotsubaki simultaneously chanted before flashing their hand signals at each other.
Sentarō's fingers were contorted into Paa...
... While Kiyone triumphantly flashed Choki.
"I win!" Kiyone squealed, her eyes alighted with delight.
"Aw, c'mon!" Sentarō groaned. "Best three out of five?"
"No, Sentarō," Jūshirō Ukitake ruled, his face scrunched with stern solemnity. "Both of you agreed to two-out-of-three. Kiyone has won Janken and so she will represent the Thirteenth Division in the Jūsankentaikai."
"Damnit," Sentarō grumbled.
His annoyance was interrupted when Kiyone leaned over the table to offer a handshake.
"Thank you for the spirited game of Janken, Sentarō-san," she said firmly. "You were a worthy opponent!"
He eyed her for a moment before begrudgingly accepting the gesture.
"Do us proud in the arena, Kiyone-san."
"Shouldn't you be calling me Kiyone-sama?"
"Don't push it!"
"But what if I don't want to fight, Captain Kurotsuchi?" Akon beseeched from the main console of SDRI.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi was futzing with a panel below, very much in his element. He swerved up his ornamental head to glower up at his subordinate.
"If it were up to me, none of us would be subjected to this grotesque pageant," the captain said. "But seeing as Nemu cannot compete, the obligation falls upon you. Unless you think Hiyosu should fight in your stead?"
Akon looked over to Hiyosu, who was instantly sweating from the very thought of fighting. He would clearly get humiliated in the arena.
"Fine," Akon sighed. "Well, I'll try and do my best –"
"I don't care what you do," Mayuri cut him off.
The captain finally got a good hold on the control panel and pried it off, bolts popping off from the metallic frame. Inside the compartment was a fleshy, writhing net of innards: the organic wires that transmitted information throughout the SDRI. Mayuri spotted the central vein and pinched it, feeling the rhythmic pulses of the slimy tube.
"What are you doing, sir?" Hiyosu asked.
"Checking for any tampering," Mayuri replied, rooting around in the panel's guts. "Aizen Sōsuke must have had a base of operations from which he could observe the entire Seireitei. For him to have pulled off his little scheme, he would've needed an omnipotent knowledge of everyone's location in Soul Society at any given time, which would have required surveillance technology on par with our very own SDRI. Not even Captain Ukitake's Reikaku could suss out so many chess pieces moving across 300 ri."
霊覚 Reikaku (Spiritual Sense)
"Do you think –?"
"Do I think that Aizen hijacked the SDRI's computers and turned them into his own surveillance system? I worried for a moment there... but it seems he did not."
Mayuri withdrew his arm from the control panel, his limb slathered in pink slime. He brought his index finger to his gleaming mouth and suckled, tasting the wires' genetic data.
"Hm, there's no trace of interference," he concluded. "Aizen knew better than to try and override my machine. If it began serving another master, I would've noticed."
Akon fished out a cigarette and lit it, hiding his agitation behind a puff.
Your machine? he thought with incredulity. I helped build the damn thing and I know it even better than you do.
He was grateful that Captain Kurotsuchi couldn't read thoughts... as far as he knew.
"I guess that answer's that," he muttered, dabbing his ash into a tea mug.
"Hardly," Mayuri chided him. "The most important question still remains: from what perch did Aizen monitor the Seireitei? Nemu, come!"
The captain climbed out of the trench and headed for the chamber's exit with Nemu dutifully following.
"Captain Kurotsuchi, you're leaving?" Hiyosu called after him. "Aren't we supposed to be focusing on constructing a Garganta? Captain, where are you going?"
"To find where Aizen hid his nest," Mayuri muttered, pushing past the exit door without looking back.
