Chapter 7

My mother was having tea at the Kuchiki's. She and Captain Kuchiki had tea every month and visited Haku's grave. I found it hilarious that my mother had no qualms telling me about the man she would have married had he not died, and yet she barely said a word about my father.

All these years the only thing I had was that he looked like me. And his first name.

I was determined to change that today as I stepped into her room.

My mentor was out of town for the next three days to visit her patron. She and my okiya had given me those days to come home and visit my family. Having not been home for two years now, I was grateful for the time off. In the World of the Living, maiko and geisha apprentices rarely were given a reprieve like this, but the Soul Society's geisha community was run slightly differently. Some rules were stricter, such as appearances and the length a trainee studied to become a geisha, while some were more relaxed, like going to visit family.

I was also fortunate in that my mentor and I were already well-connected—her being a successful geisha, and I being born into a high-standing family—so there was not as much need to forge relationships with the men in the Rukon.

I slipped out of my kimono and wiped off my makeup. My hair was still tucked up in its intricate styling but in the privacy of my home, I let it down. There was no need for me to keep it up for the next few days.

I touched the ends of my sandy blond curls. They reached the curve of my hips now. For formal ceremonies and most events, I wore a black wig styled in the maiko-hairstyle, to look more like a traditional geisha. But days like this when I was traveling, I didn't bother. There was no strict rule against wearing my hair in its natural color, though I was tempted to dye my hair black so I didn't stick out like a sore thumb.

I had inherited my mother's Japanese features but I was noticeably different from in many ways. The hair, my sharper cheekbones. Even my eyes were greyer than the stunning blue of my mother's. I had figured that I had inherited my father's looks but I needed to know for sure.

There was a chest underneath her bed that she kept all of his belongings in. It was heavy and nearly impossible to pull out into the open. Inside was a Squad Two uniform and files. I opened one and stared its contents. Photos.

It was a picture of a young man standing in a black Stealth Force uniform. He had pulled his black mouth piece down and smiling widely. Grey eyes crinkled at the corners, just like mine did.

Another photo was of him but older. He stood in a normal Shihakusho beside a woman with dark brown skin and short, purple hair. They were laughing about something, arms around each other's shoulders like they were long-time friends. His hair was longer now, to his shoulders and sandy blond.

There were many photos like this. Ones of this man with Squad members and friends and family. I laughed at one of him when he was a young boy with his parents. His mother looked just like him, and his father too. They were a tall family—were they my grandparents? Were they alive?

I paused when I spotted my mother in one of the photos. It was of a great hall, lined with Shinigami with white haori and officers standing beside them. I recognized my Grandfather standing amongst the captains, as well as the purpled-haired woman from the other photo—she too wore a haori.

My mother stood with a hulking man who minituarized everyone around him, and a young man who wore a Squad Eleven Lieutenant's badge. Beside them was a small blonde girl with pigtails, who frowned angrily at the camera. And beside her was the same man in all these photos. Kisuke.

He wore a white haori like the other captains, and staring directly at the camera. At first glance, it looked as though my mother and him were having to stand close together because of how many people there were in the photo. But at another glance, I realized that their arms were extended out.

They had been holding hands.

I set the photos down and shuffled through the uniforms. There was no trace of the haori. Only a few Shihakusho.

I ran to her wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Her work uniforms lined the left side, as they always had. But then I realized that there were ones that were larger. A man's uniform. I moved the hangers and looked in the inner collar, not surprised that it held the Squad Twelve insignia. She had kept his uniforms all these years.

I continued to shuffle through until I found what I had been searching for. His haori. It was hidden right at the back.

My hand trembled as I touched the material. It was thin with years of wear. My fingers felt as though I was touching fire as they made contact with the thread, and I snatched my hand back in fright.

My mother had a mirror in line with the wardrobe, one that I often looked into. I often imagined what my father looked like and would try to find that answer in my reflection.

I reached for the haori and slid it off the hanger and onto my shoulders. It was huge on me, and I could only begin to fathom my father's height. My mother was a tall woman and he cleared her quite easily in the photo I had seen of them.

I turned to the mirror and tucked my hair into my clothes so it looked shorter. I took the photo of him and held it up. The resemblance was there—I saw it now.

"Kisuke?"

I whipped around and my mother gasped in horror. We stood there and said nothing. I was too terrified of moving and I'm sure that she was too shocked to do anything but stare at me. She had thought I was him. For a brief moment, she had thought he was standing in her room.

I let the haori fall to the ground and sprinted out of the room. She only stood at the doorway, shoulders sagging and eyes wide like she had seen a ghost.