I do NOT own Bleach

Izumi walked along the corridor of the Spiritual Arts Academy, head down and avoiding everyone's eyes.

She wore the standard uniform of the female Academy student: red hakana (1), with white socks and reed sandals, and a white kosodo (2) with red stripes down the sleeves and circular patterns on each breast over a red shitagi (3). Naomi wore an identical but smaller version, and the boys wore a blue version.

Ever since she had donned the uniform and enrolled with Naomi, the two had been playing catch-up. They were a week behind the rest of the class. For Naomi, it wasn't so bad –she was in the normal Freshers' group, learning at a slower pace with classmates who were willing to help if she didn't understand something.

But Izumi had been placed in the Advanced Class, meaning lessons were more complex and detailed. As if that wasn't bad enough, the majority of the class were from nobility and the better-off Rukon Areas. She was from a completely different world of poverty and constant fighting. Even though they were now in the Academy, they were still regarded as the lowest of the low.

She was not only struggling to keep up to date but also to complete work she had missed. And she had to put up with the snide and rude comments of the nobles who looked down at her in particular. They were a constant distraction, and a rather demoralising one.

However, in the practicals of Zanjutsu (4) and Hakudo (5) Izumi clearly shown as one of the better students. It made up for the fact that she had fallen behind in the general subjects and was scoring average in the areas of Hoho (6) and Kido.

Her Kido lecture had finished and she was making her way to the library to study on her missed lectures. She knew it was going to take a while –she had been so busy lately, she had started skipping evening meals.

As expected, she was still working when the gong sounded nine. The library had been quiet for hours; most students had returned to their dorm rooms by now. She decided she had worked enough –she had finished the sections on Law and History that she had missed as well as her Algebra assignment.

She gathered up her notes, returned the reference books to the correct shelves and headed out of the library, back to the dorm on campus. The Seiretei was lined with oil-fuelled burning torches, and Soul Reapers were stationed on guard duty. Some of them greeted her as she went past, earning automatic respectful replies.

At least the full Soul Reapers weren't judging her by District.

Her room was standing dark when she walked in. Naomi was already fast asleep on one of the room's futons. The two sisters had been placed in the same room. Izumi quietly put her notes on the desk before clambering onto her futon and shutting her eyes.

She quickly fell asleep.

It came as no real surprise when she found herself surrounded by flickering flames –it was happening incredibly frequently. Looking around, she couldn't see any trace of the figure from before. Somehow, it didn't feel right to be here without –whoever he was.

No matter how hard, she had strained her ears, she had never been able to make out his name.

After some time in lectures, Izumi had worked out what he was: the spirit-form of her zanpukto. Since she had first fought with the dagger, she had infused it with some of her own soul. That dagger was now her zanpukto. It lay beneath her bed –freshmen weren't expected to learn the name of their zanpuktos yet.

Knowing the spirit's name and learning the release command was the first step to gaining shikai, the first release of zanpukto. To join a Squad, a candidate had to first learn shikai and unlock the weapon's full powers. The zanpukto wasn't just a weapon –it was an extension of its wielder, part of their soul. The next level was Bankai, to release the ultimate power of the zanpukto. But only those of captain-class capability could release that sort of power by overpowering the spirit-form of their zanpukto. And there were very few potential candidates with the spiritual powers to do that.

But almost every single night, her zanpukto-spirit reached out to her, pulling her into her inner world of flames. And now it had happened again.

Izumi was not exactly sure how she felt about her inner world being completely made out of fire; but somehow she had just accepted and grown used to it.

"Welcome back," the zanpukto-spirit's familiar voice said, and Izumi turned to see the nameless apparition. He threw a wooden bamboo sword to her. "Spar with me."

With that, he launched himself at her. She was so caught off-guard that she barely had time to parry the blow.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. The spirit wasn't holding anything back, pushing her harder and harder, as though they were mortal enemies. Nothing else had been able to force her to hear his name –maybe this would do it.

He wanted to take on his shikai form as much as she wanted to see it –more than anything else.

After an hour of mental sparring, however, they had made little to no progress. Izumi's technique had improved, but she had not needed to find his name.

Izumi woke abruptly, with the distinct feeling that the zanpukto-spirit was incredibly pissed off at her.

"What was all that about?" she wondered before drifting into a normal dream.

The next day dawned, signalling the start of more lectures and practical sessions.

During the practical Zanjutsu session, her teacher couldn't help noticing that one of his top students was not fighting as well as he knew she could.

"Kihara!" he called, motioning her over.

"Yes, sensei (7)?" Izumi asked, bowing low.

"You seem distracted today," he stated. "Is there anything wrong?"

Izumi hesitated for a moment, and then decided to tell her teacher about her zanpukto-spirit.

He was startled by the news that she was in communication with her zanpukto already –it was barely three weeks since the term had begun, one and a half since she and Naomi had enrolled. And for someone who had fallen behind, her grades were high. In fact, she was starting to pull ahead.

Most students, even the brightest sparks, couldn't even see their zanpukto spirit until the beginning of the second year.

Kihara's abilities in Hakudo and Zanjutsu and, to a lesser degree, Hoho were equal to any of the present Third Years. Only her Kido was slightly shakier but with practice, she would quickly rise to the level of a Third Year student. She might be able to qualify for a placement into the Fourth Year.

But to qualify for the Advanced Placement, she had first to be able to summon and fully use shikai.

"I want you to met me inside Dojo 11 tomorrow at noon," he told her. "Bring along your zanpukto. We'll get that shikai release."

"Thank you, Sensei," Izumi said, bowing again before moving back to her sparring partner.

Rumours were beginning to circulate by the time Izumi reached the cafeteria area, and all of it was scandalous. As she took her tray and moved to sit with her sister, she was aware that they were whispering about the 'teacher's pet.'

"What's going on, Kihara?" asked a voice behind her. She looked around to see one of the many nobles from her class. Raidon Kuchiki was proud and powerful, the son and heir of the current clan leader, and he was one of Izumi's greatest rivals.

There were rumours that he was going to be put straight into the Fourth Year the following year. He was also the top student, receiving the highest grades, Izumi right behind him.

Izumi just ignored him –he wasn't worth wasting her time on.

"I heard you're heading to Dojo 11 tomorrow," he went on, ignoring the hint to walk away. "I heard that Etui-sensei is going to be there as well. So what are you up to?"

"I need a little extra training,"Izumi said coldly. "It's just private tuition. I'm sure you've had plenty, Mr High-and-Mighty."

Raidon Kuchiki stiffened at the obvious disrespect and grabbed Izumi by her shirt. The eyes of all the students were turning to watch the confrontation between noble and Zaraki.

"Maybe I should just follow you tomorrow," Raidon said, malice in his tone.

"Just try it and I'll drop you where you stand," Izumi countered.

Raidon bored of picking on the Zaraki; he couldn't believe he was jealous of such a nobody, even if she was the second-brightest in the year. He released her and stalked away.

Izumi straightened her kosodo and retook her seat.

She couldn't care less what that stuck-up noble or the rest thought about her. She'd show them.

(1) Trousers

(2) Shirt

(3) Undershirt

(4) Swordplay

(5) Hand-to-hand Combat

(6) Movement

(7) Polite term for a teacher or figure of authority