A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and follows! I'm so touched. Btw, I'm here to announce that this story is going to turn M-rated in future chapters, so, well... reader discretion is advised.
Hylla: Hello! Thank you for your awesome compliments! And yes, isn't Byakuya such a hot, darling muffin? I've been soo in love with him since I watched Bleach =D. And yes Rukia will meet Hisana, but not anytime soon though. Still quite a while before that, I think. Thanks for reviewing!
Rose Attack: You are too kind! Thank you so much.
sunev.31: Hello! Regarding your question, Hisana is in around her early twenties here in my fic. I don't know how old she was canonically in Bleach, but this is roughly her age in human years for my story. Of course, Byakuya is a lot older than her here (he's like a few hundred years old?) but that's in shinigami years so that's okay, right? And about whether Renji would become their cupid... well, who knows? ;-) Anyway, thank you for your wonderful comments!
Guest: Thank you for your generous review! Haha, Renji- that pervert! Control yourself, Pineapple- Head!
torianime246: Yes, I already have the plot in my head! Thanks so much for dropping a review!
xJasmin3x: I am so grateful for your review! Thank you! God bless.
Rukia Kuchiki strode along the lengthy, lush corridors of the Manor, her socked feet padding softly along the polished mahogany ground. Her black shihakusho fluttered slightly against her slender form as she headed promptly for her private chambers in the Kuchiki Manor, feeling slightly mutinous.
The black-haired female would never by far think herself as someone who craved company or enjoyed socializing, having always in all her life assumed that she was more a solitary creature than an extroverted one. However, what with both the Third Seats of The Thirteenth Division being called away for a mission in the Living World, her captain being suddenly bedridden due to an abrupt deterioration in health, and with both Renji and her older brother's absence as well, she was feeling rather... lonely here in Sereitei.
She hadn't felt this way for a long time, not since she joined the Gotei Thirteen.
The lieutenant sighed restlessly. Ichigo and his gang wouldn't be visiting Soul Society anytime soon either, and she doubted she would have any opportunity right then to visit the World of The Living, what with her currently being the main authoritative figure holding the Thirteenth Division's reins. Also, she couldn't deny that with Nii-sama gone, the vast Manor, filled with its busy servants and their individual duties, felt extremely empty. She had unconsciously taken the Kuchiki Head's prominent, intimidating albeit steady presence so much for granted that his unexpected absence now made her somewhat uneasy.
Rukia paused suddenly, having noticed the Kuchiki House's main caretaker standing not far away from her in a wide, silent space somewhere within the Manor. His bent, white robed back stood in her direction, and she followed his solemn bespectacled gaze before abruptly realizing that he was respectfully positioned before the Kuchiki Family shrine. The scent of light incense and chrysanthemum trickled to her nose.
Her large purple eyes widened slightly as she took in the many foreign yet distinct faces acutely painted on the several oil portraits before her. The unknown, unfamiliar features of the deceased Kuchiki ancestors only served to increase her sudden discomfort and sense of lack of belonging here in the noble clan. Her breath, however, suddenly stilled when her gaze fell onto a face; a remarkably feminine, delicate face that was the sepia, marked reflection of her own.
''Kuchiki Hisana-sama,'' a hoarse voice murmured.
Rukia turned and blinked at the caretaker. Quietly she took a few steps forward until she was beside him by the Family shrine, their gazes soundlessly probing the smooth surface of her older sister's portrait, the petals of chrysanthemum brushing the expensive photograph frame lightly.
The lieutenant knew that this wasn't the sole photograph of the late Lady Kuchiki- far from it; her austere older brother in fact kept his own personal, intricate altar of said female somewhere within his private, opulently vast chambers. Rukia had never visited the second shrine before- it was, unspokenly and tactfully, common knowledge to the household that it was out of bounds for them, even to servants for housekeeping. It was a place that was intimately private and reserved only for Kuchiki Byakuya; a sacred place awashed with mysterious memories shared between him and his late lover that Rukia could never intrude upon.
She wondered then, if he ever stood there gazing at his lover's picture, before abruptly remembering once more that she was no longer in his life...
Sometimes, Rukia wished that, just for once, she could be able to look slightly deeper into the enigmatic, complicated inner workings of the reticent Clan Head and understand just the littlest bit more about him. And more than that- she fervently wished to be able to see beyond her beautiful sister's sweet, impersonal smile- a gentle smile that looked as if it was near tears at the same time.
''He doesn't speak of her often,'' Rukia finally murmured.
There was a pause.
''Perhaps some memories,'' the caretaker replied softly, ''are better left unspoken.''
She turned her head to look at him. ''You make it seem as if they're so ghastly.''
The old man smiled ruefully, his round, large glasses reflecting the flickering gold light of the lit candles, allowing it to illuminate the tired wrinkles on his face. ''On the contrary, Rukia-sama,'' he said gently, ''The most beautiful memories in the world can become ghastly to speak of once their source has already gone. If they were not beautiful... Then perhaps they would not have been so terrible in the future. Indeed, yes... Absence makes the heart fonder... And certainly more painful.''
It took about what felt like a million rings before Kurosaki Ichigo finally picked up the phone. Before Renji could so much as speak though, the orange-haired male's irritated voice was already echoing through the phone speakers.
''What is it?'' He demanded. ''For the last time, Renji, toilet seats with built in bidets are meant to help you wash your... down there after you're done doing your business. So stop asking me all these questions already, the Human World's not even that complicated, dammit-''
''That's not why I called you, idiot!'' Renji hissed, nearly falling from his crouched position by his futon. The rays of the setting sun were already seeping through the open, pretty windows of his hotel suite, though he paid no heed to the gorgeously golden scenery offered to him. ''And I figured out the toilet part last week already!''
''Then...'' Ichigo sounded suspicious, ''if you're not calling me to ask stuff about the Human World for your mission- what's your real reason?''
''Um, well, something came up recently that I want to tell you,'' the red-haired man began, suddenly a little awkward. He personally had no idea why he had chosen to talk to Ichigo out of all people about his dilemma, but had to admit it beat keeping the issue to himself. And currently the lieutenant just desperately needed to confide in someone about the perplexing situation he was in before he imploded from all the weirdness that was going on- even if it meant telling the idiot strawberry.
Telling Rukia, he realized, was out of the question for now.
''Okay, this is random, but let me start with Kuchiki-Taichou,'' the heavily tattooed man went on cautiously, ''We all know that Rukia and him are part of the same family, right?''
''Gee,'' Ichigo remarked sarcastically. ''That never crossed my mind at all.''
''Shut up!'' Renji's face was flushed; he was silently thankful that the sceptical substitute shinigami couldn't see him. The lieutenant was feeling rather stupid, something which he had been frequently feeling around his captain recently, and Ichigo wasn't helping matters. ''At least let me get to my point and hear me out, okay?''
''Then get on with it already!''
''Alright, alright!'' Renji snapped. ''Look, tell me -and for lord's sake don't question, just answer- do you remember why Rukia got adopted into the Kuchiki Family?''
There was a confused pause.
''Um, yeah, I guess,'' Ichigo said at last. ''If I'm not wrong, wasn't it to do with an older sister she had?''
''That's right,'' Renji breathed heavily. "Here's some info you might want to know. Her older sister passed away from some illness many, many years ago. She had a frail body, that's what I heard. I'm not that clear about the details, to be honest- I don't think even Rukia knows much. People don't really talk 'bout it; it's a tense subject within the Kuchiki Clan.''
''And... Why are talking about it to me then?''
''Because,'' Renji said through gritted teeth, more irritated than ever, ''I found out recently that she isn't as gone as we thought.''
A lengthy silence abruptly followed his words. The redhead stared silently at the long stretch of crystal glass glimmering before him that was the wall of his luxurious suite bathroom, waiting patiently for his companion's response, phone still clutched to his ear.
''Wait,'' Ichigo finally spoke, his voice genuinely bewildered. ''What do you mean, she's not really gone? Are you saying she's still haunting Byakuya's big old house or something?''
''No!'' Renji slapped his tattooed forehead in exasperation. ''And dude, show some respect, for goodness's sake!''
''Why is this my fault now? You're the one being so bloody vague!''
''Alright, alright!'' Renji forced out in annoyance. He supposed part of it was his fault- but honestly, couldn't the asshole try to be more patient? ''Anyway, this is important, so listen- you do know how the cycle of the living and dead works, right? Tell me, what happens when a human dies?''
Ichigo sighed out in audible discontent. ''Their soul gets sent to Soul Society, duh. Just how dumb do you think I am? I suppose you think that my title as the Substitute Shinigami is just an empty one, huh?''
The redhead decided to ignore the last part of the other male's disgruntled statement. ''And what happens when a soul dies in Soul Society?'' He demanded instead.
Ichigo let out a displeased noise at the continued interrogation. ''Well, I suppose they get sent back to the Living World as a newborn human once-...'' Without warning, the originally grumpy teenager suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, leaving an abrupt pause within their conversation- a quiet hush heavy with unexpected realization.
Silence.
When the orange-haired male finally spoke again a few stunned heartbeats later, Renji couldn't help but notice with some satisfaction that the voice coming from the phone was now completely devoid of its initial irritation, and instead sounded slightly dazed. ''Oi, Renji... You're not actually saying... Are you joking? The woman-?''
''Yeah.''
''Right at the hotel you guys are currently at for your mission...?''
''Yeah. I'm sure of it. You can't mistake that face. It's just like Rukia's.''
''Why the hell is she-...?''
''She's apparently the hotel songstress. Goes under some stage name.''
''But that's just...'' Ichigo swallowed. He sounded a little strangled. ''Crazy.''
''A little coincidental, huh?'' Renji asked dryly into the phone.
''Coincidental's one word for it!'' Ichigo retorted, his tone scandalized. ''I don't want to sound ridiculous... but hell, isn't this a lot like the destiny and fate crap that people are always gushing about? It's... simply just not possible. Let me warn you now that if this is some joke, I'm not amused.''
''Jeez, I wouldn't kid about something like this alright?'' Renji said, and suddenly sniggered, an act that was a lot more like his usual self. ''And I can't believe you actually described the situation with something so cheesy like destiny, Ichigo.''
''Don't pretend that didn't cross your mind either!'' Ichigo shot back. ''I mean, come on, Rukia's deceased older sister- now reborn, and you guys just happen to chance upon her? That's a little too much for coincidences, don't ya think?''
''Well, yeah, I suppose,'' Renji replied. He was, to be honest, a little relieved; relieved that he was no longer the only one carrying this heavy knowledge aside from his captain. ''Speaking of which, one thing that bothers me is- should we tell Rukia? She... deserves to know this.''
Ichigo paused; Renji's words had elicited an unexpected thought in him. ''Wait. We can leave Rukia out of this for now, but how's Byakuya taking this? Wasn't the lady... well, his wife?''
Renji abruptly sobered. ''Yeah,'' he said, sighing wearily. ''That's the scariest part right now. I have no idea at all how he's taking it- well, you know the Captain. He's not the most expressive person out there.''
''You don't say.'' Ichigo sounded contemplative; musing. ''Still, I've learned from experience not to be so easily taken in by that mask of his. And you shouldn't either.''
''This isn't my decision to make, though,'' Renji said flatly. ''It doesn't seem like he intends to do anything about her so far. And if he doesn't, then it's really not my business.''
''Really?'' Ichigo asked knowingly. ''Then why did you call me?''
The redhead glared mutinously at the hotel wall in front of him. For once, the usually oblivious Substitute Shinigami was actually being perceptive, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. ''Look,'' he said at last, choosing his words carefully, ''It's true that I have no idea what the Captain plans to do about his wife. He's unpredictable. Always has been. Maybe he'll really do nothing. But somehow... That's actually hard for me to believe. It's weird for me to be saying this- but yeah.''
''It's not weird at all,'' Ichigo muttered. The tattooed lieutenant blinked- after all, he hadn't expected the orange-haired shinigami to agree with him. ''That Byakuya... I don't know much about him, but I definitely do know this- Rukia's his beloved sister, right? Then I won't even need to ask about the woman who's the reason behind it.''
The twelfth division barracks were always mostly quiet save for the occasional, sharp noise of someone clicking on a computer mouse, and the day was no exception. White-robed researchers of the division in the research and development institute were staring intently at the the lit screens of their computers- which were also the main sources of flickering light within the large dark space. Some were peering at files and signing reports under the artificial pale bluish light, with notable difficulty, but no one complained.
It was known to all in the Twelfth Division that if you preferred not to be one of Captain Kurotsuchi's living experiments- you were to do as you were told and suck it up.
''Hey, Akon,'' Hiyosu suddenly called, his bulbous head swiveling slightly from his computer. ''Check this out.''
The Third Seat didn't move from his position on his chair. He was busy reading through a report, spiky black hair disheveled. ''This had better be important.''
''Well, it is,'' Hiyosu said, looking thoughtful. ''You know that report we got the other day from some hotel in the Living World?''
''The Sixth Division's already taking care of it.''
''Yeah, but I found out something just now. Look at this.''
Akon finally relented, heaving himself from his chair and making his way to Hiyosu's seat, his arms tucked wearily within his long white sleeves. ''What?''
''This.'' Hiyosu clicked a button at his computer and the monitor instantly zoomed in towards a picture of what looked like a fallen corpse. The body was lying headfirst on the floor- long brown hair flowing to one side, with what seemed like an almost morbidly artful air to it. ''You see that woman's neck?''
''What the fuck.'' Akon swore bluntly. The female corpse's long slender neck was almost completely black, the wrinkled skin looking as if it was somewhat burnt- not unlike a barbecued chicken that had been turned charcoal black. Due to the woman's long hair it was not a surprise that none of the Twelfth Division's researchers had noticed the concealed skin of the female in the surveillance photo until that moment.
''Who do you think could've done this?'' Hiyosu said excitedly. ''It's true a Hollow could've, but there's no doubt that this must have been one smart Hollow to get away with such an inconspicuous crime scene.''
''It's strange, I'll give you that,'' Akon agreed. He rubbed his chin. ''I actually know this hotel resort in the Living World thanks to all the past surveillance I've been doing there. Always been pretty peaceful to me- no signs of a Hollow attack for the past decades. The fact that a murder just popped up of nowhere seems weird, alright.''
''Not just that,'' Hiyosu said thoughtfully. ''All three of the victims were women- coincidence? I don't know. Also, common cause of death. Asphyxiation.''
''Considering that their necks were in a pretty bad condition, you'd think they died of burns. Maybe... Smoke inhalation?''
''Little traces of carbon monoxide in their bodies.''
Akon sighed irritably, already turning away. ''Okay, you know what? I'll just send the latest report to Kuchiki-Taicho and Abarai-Fuku-Taicho, and let them handle it. This is outside of our jurisdiction anyway. Leave it to the professionals.''
''Sure.'' Hiyosu was paying little attention; he was still staring at the surveillance photo on the computer screen. ''Call it my morbid scientist's instinct, Akon-san, but something tells me this won't be the last death over there.''
''That's not your morbid scientist's instinct." Akon's voice called mildly as he walked back to his own seat. "That's just from being around Kurotsuchi-Taicho too much.''
Daffodil felt uneasy.
It was quite amusing, in a bitter way, she supposed. People would think by now that she would've already gotten used to this aspect of her life- and yet they were still wrong. No matter how times she went through the same thing, little would change. The disquiet and the melancholy would never go away, and the only thing that varied every time was her increased endurance of it.
But even said endurance could not last her forever.
''Ah, Lord Hoshi,'' the manager of the Sakura Resort smiled cordially. He snapped his fingers authoritatively at Daffodil, who quietly lifted the tray of hot Japanese tea and politely brought it to the low, elegantly furnished table within the Emperor's Suite. Her low-cut, satin dress tugged uncomfortably at her creamy breasts as she lowered the tea before the two men, making her all too aware of the leering gazes fixed on her.
''Have some tea, Your Lordship,'' the manager's smile widened, his gaze darting to the fat man beside him. ''They come with the best tea leaves freshly imported from the heart of Japan.''
''Ah,'' Hoshi said laughingly, one pudgy, gold-ringed finger holding a massive, smoking cigar. His small eyes, however, were fixed on the withdrawn woman before him. ''A kind offer, Nobu-san, but I'd much rather have the heart of the beauteous Miss Daffodil.''
''Now, now, Your Lordship,'' Nobu said, revealing rows of unpleasant teeth, ''You haven't forgotten your wife, have you?''
They both burst out laughing- peals of cold, callous laughter that bounced off the expensive timber walls and represented what Daffodil already long knew; that in the world of the rich and wealthy, the last thing one cared about was fidelity. She had since lost count of the number of young mistresses she had witnessed perched on the business tycoon and infamous investor Lord Hoshi's arm, their pretty heads tossed back with the naively smug belief that they were the only female in his love life.
And it seemed Hoshi was now more determined than ever to add the petite singer into his harem.
''Daffodil, my dear,'' he said, lowering his cigar and ignoring his tea. ''Won't you perform during my family dinner tonight? We'll be dining in the resort, of course.''
The female dipped her small head respectfully. ''I do apologize, My Lord,'' she murmured demurely. ''However, I am booked to perform for tonight's Sakura Festival.''
Hoshi's beady eyes narrowed, before he turned to Nobu- who was quick to intervene.
''Please don't take Daffodil's words too seriously, Your Lordship,'' the manager said hastily. ''Of course we shall cancel the festival's performance tonight and have it changed in your favour. You will have a family feast tonight, rest assured- and a wonderful song to go with it.''
Silently the singer bit back her inward resentment, knowing that such emotion would bring her nothing but trouble if displayed. The wealthy would always triumph- never mind that about half of the hotel resort's population had been looking forward to her performance on the coming night at the packed festival. No, instead she was now set to perform for the hotel's most prominent investor and his harem- and how she loathed it.
She would be instructed, once again like today, to dress in skimpy wear to please said lecherous, fat man, and to endure his lewd, humiliating treatment of her. At the very least, she mused, he had not yet touched her inappropriately.
Deep down she knew it was only a matter of time- and no one would care. Who, after all, dared to stand in the way of the business tycoon who owned a considerable amount of financial shares in the Sakura Hotel?
''Ah, yes, Nobu-san,'' Hoshi suddenly spoke, a shrewd glint in his expression. His voice had dropped in volume somewhat- and suddenly he looked less like a pampered obese man, and more of a cruel, manipulative and ruthless one. ''What's this about a staff's murder? In this hotel, no less?''
The air in the suite suddenly turned cold.
The manager lowered his head, one hand touching the layer of his toothbrush moustache. ''We haven't discovered the perpetrator yet-''
''I don't care about that,'' the investor said impatiently, tapping the side of his tatami mat. ''The police, you fool- if they find out, the hotel's entire business could go down-''
''Everything has been hushed up,'' Nobu replied calmly. His yellow eyes glanced icily at Daffodil, who had meekly situated herself to one side of the hotel suite, looking very inconspicuous indeed. ''Don't you have duties to see to, woman?'' he demanded. ''You are dismissed.''
Hoping not to let her relief show, the female hastily bowed before backing out of the grand Emperor's Suite, her stilettos lightly sinking into the lavishly velvet carpeted floor. She was so glad- so eager to leave the distasteful scene that it took everything she had not to run off immediately after she softly closed the papery shoji doors.
The winding corridors of the hotel were freezing, the female realized with dismay, having taken Hoshi's suite's inner heating for granted. Dressed in nothing but a tiny white satin dress, she was currently no doubt vulnerable to the icy air washing across her smooth skin like tiny freezing knives. Shivering, the tiny woman hugged herself against a nearby wall, feeling extremely unhappy and despondent.
She wanted to run away. Run away from her job here in this luxurious yet wretched hotel resort, run away from the never relenting claws of Hoshi, run away from it all.
But where could she go? Aside from singing, Daffodil had no other particular talent. How was she to make a living on her own? And there was just no way that she would ever want to be alone on the streets again- to eventually and inevitably see what only her eyes could see; to encounter another one of the white masked demons roaming out in the public lands, just like her own mother had, right before her death-...
Shuddering, the singer reached up and unconsciously clutched the little pendant curled around her slender neck, thin shoulders trembling from the ruthless frosty air... and something else.
It was then that she sensed a presence not far from her.
There had been no sound at all, not even a whisper, and yet the woman had felt it all the same, her nerves prickling; the overwhelming sensation of intensity and prominence. It was similar, she realized, to what she had experienced the last time she had been singing on stage.
Daffodil looked up, and her large lavender eyes widened.
The tall male approaching along the corridor was unlike anything she had ever seen.
She had, after all, already been so accustomed to the sight of well-nourished, obese businessmen and celebrities; their pudgy hands littered with gold and diamond rings, hair neatly gelled and slicked back across their foreheads while they wore expensive, fancy suits tailored extensively by the best. This, to her, had defined and painted the appearance of a wealthy person with influence.
She was wrong.
The tall, dark-haired man before her certainly emanated an air of quiet aristocracy and undeniable grace- and yet he looked nothing like what she had known throughout her life. She had never seen a man with such long hair before; the sleek raven mane drifted freely across the sides of his visage along to the dignified slope of his powerful, robed shoulders. He wore a simple long white haori that billowed silently along his dark blue kinagashi underneath, his soundless, cat-like footfalls sure-footed and uncannily graceful against the smooth mahogany floor.
The male continued gliding serenely along the corridor towards her, his demeanor unreadable and unruffled. She could only stare blankly at him, body shivering from the cold but otherwise unmoving, her mind seemingly captivated by this male stranger for reasons she did not even know.
And when he finally neared enough for her to properly see his face -when he slowly turned his head towards her- she stifled a sudden tremor running up her paralyzed body.
He was beautiful; there was simply no doubt that this was a man who was extremely pleasing to the eye. His angular, stunningly pale features were arrogantly carved to that of regal perfection- the sculpted lips, the silently proud high cheekbones and the haughty straight nose. And then there were his exotic eyes- slanted, unfathomable dark rich eyes that gazed tacitly at her from beneath ridiculously long lashes.
Her throat constricted, and something about the sight of this man -only she didn't know what- seemed to clench the core of her chest. There was an ache within her, she discovered; an ache she had no means of relieving, an ache that she had no idea had even existed within herself.
The mysterious male was silently yet openly watching her, with a discerning intensity that threatened to consume her being. He had paused midway in his fluid, casual stroll- and was now standing quietly right before her, so closely that she could detect the distinctive whiff of pine and cherry blossoms. He looked, she thought faintly, as if he was currently measuring her reaction. She felt very vulnerable suddenly, dressed in nothing but her tight, figure-clinging dress.
What did he want?
Daffodil blinked when the gorgeous raven-haired man suddenly lowered his shoulders with elegant precision, allowing his silk haori to fall softly across the sleek length of his arms and into his awaiting long-fingered hands. With a noiseless flourish of the white robe he had effortlessly draped it over her own small shivering shoulders- before the stunned woman could so much as react.
The sudden warmth that shrouded her petite, chilly form was incredibly soothing; the musky, pleasant scent of cherry blossoms and rain drifted to her sensitive olfactory senses once again. A tinge of crimson spread at her initially white cheeks at the sudden realization that it was in fact the remnants of the male's body warmth that was comfortably cloaking her figure right then. It sent a delighted tingle along her nerves as she gingerly touched the silky surface of the white robe around her.
She had to say something- but what? Ask the stranger what this was all about- why he was helping her- thank him- what? The shocked and confused female couldn't seem to get the words out of her throat.
Not that she had to worry, it appeared, as he had unexpectedly turned with a small graceful swirl of his foot and had begun moving away with unhurried calm as if nothing had happened. Indeed, she would've doubted that anything had happened if not for the fact that he was now dressed in only his pure blue kinagashi, and that his overlong, warm haori was presently wrapped securely around her short stature with its lengthy edges draped on the floor.
He was leaving.
''Wait-'' Daffodil finally choked out, but either he did not hear her, or simply didn't care to; for the tall stranger's back did not even once turn to look back. A few seconds later, he had smoothly crossed a bend in the corridor, and was gone.