Year One: Spring

The demons are out in full force tonight. They have sunk their teeth into Hisana's thoughts and tear at her, unspooling feelings that she had long convinced herself were mastered. Oh, how foolish she was.

Her downward spiral starts familiarly enough. It commences where her ending and beginning collided, where they collide still, like drops of ink blossoming in clear water. Now, she's here in Soul Society more generally, but, more specifically, she's here trying to sleep in a tree under the cover of stars.

Hisana remembers her last moments; they resonate deep within her at a primal level. The ghosts of those memories—the terror, the smell of rain and death, the sensation of floating then sinking—chase after her in the late night hours, and, once they catch her, they feast. Their haunting, however, occurs less than before. But, "less than before" is not never. It can never be "never." There is a trigger buried deep within her that, once tripped, is all too willing to conjure those last few moments, when air turned to water.

Then, there was being sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister. Alone. No mom. No dad. No one else at all.

Why Inuzuri?

Hisana rests the back of her head against the tree trunk and stares into the stars overhead. Absently, she throws a rubber ball in the air, the one that the Fourth gave all the students last week after one of the third-years threw herself off the roof of the General Library after receiving last semester's grades. (She lived.) Written across the ball in big bold print is the phrase, "Bounce Back to Mental Health," with a dopey smiley face right after it. The official from the Fourth who handed them out was sort of vague as to why rubber balls would be helpful. Hisana thinks it's meant to distract students from bad thoughts or something like that.

Whatever its purpose, it isn't effective. The bad thoughts are still there. No amount of tossing or clenching the ball affects that.

Like, right now.

Her brain still chews at the question of why the district matching process had picked Inuzuri for her and her sister.

Hisana knows the technical answer to this question: She and her sister received their tickets at the same time, and the sorting process goes in order of district and direction according to who shows up and when. As it is explained at the Academy, in a line of four people, the first person gets District One, North, the second person gets District One, East, the third person gets District One, West, and the last person gets District One, South. The process repeats itself for District Two and so on until they get all the way to District Eighty, South, after which the cycle restarts at District One, North.

Hisana thinks this explanation is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. She thinks a lot of what the Academy masters teach is bullshit, though. The students don't question things, at least not openly. In her youth, she was told by one such master that it isn't polite to scratch at things like a dog. He was probably poking fun at where she came from, Inuzuri, with that one, but….

If the process is truly random, why is coming from Inuzuri any worse than, say, coming from District One? Morally, they should be equivalent. But, that's not how people see it. No, the way that the masters and nobles talk about the Rukon makes it seem like it is a moral failing on the part of the soul to wind up any place past District Fifty. She has always taken this bias as undeniable proof that there's more to how souls are sorted upon arrival than taught to the students.

Hisana doesn't remember much of the intake and distribution process. Shock does that to the mind. Dying in a flood and then showing up not dead but not quite alive with her sister cradled in her arms was… a lot.

Even now, as she struggles to remember anything-anything at all-all her mind's eye bothers to draw up is a sterile white room reminiscent of nothing and a line of other souls and her ticket.

Why weren't her parents there? They should've been in the line. She would've spotted them even through her shock.

The ball falls hard against the meat of her palm. The pain is just enough to needle her, and Hisana frowns.

They all should have died together.

But….

She has no memory of them in the flood. None at all. That doesn't mean they weren't there. Logically, they should've been there. With her. With her sister. Her memories are so fragmented, though. Their sharpness, their clarity, their bracing edge…. These things make them feel whole and true, but they aren't.

Many people were there with her when she and her sister died. She knows because the echoes of their screams ring out at times. She doesn't remember any of their faces. Maybe her parents were among them, just one of the faceless shrieking horde from her nightmares.

Or… maybe… she did something tragically stupid that got her and her sister killed. Maybe that's why she and her family had not received a numbered ticket together. Maybe that's why she got sent to the hellhole that is Inuzuri. Maybe this was her punishment for being a troublesome youth. Her soul wasn't found irredeemable enough to be cast into hell, but it had been found wanting.

Right? Decent, innocent people don't go to Inuzuri. She must have….

Hisana swallows thickly at the thought that comes next.

She must have deserved her fate.

Feeling the weight of the ball in her hand once again, her fingers close over it, and she squeezes tightly.

Had she condemned her sister? Had she done something terrible to get them killed and separated from their parents? Was all of this her fault?

It feels like her fault.

It has always felt like her fault. Why else would she have been separated from her parents? Why else would she have died? Why else would she have been sent to Inuzuri? Why else did she abandon—

Hisana forces down the figurative sluice gate to these thoughts. Her mind goes dark then black as numbness starts to set in. The dread and loathing are still there, but they're always there. It doesn't take long for their intensity to dim enough for her to resurface.

The lavender shades of pre-dawn light paint the sky, and the flickering shadows of the branches beating in the wind pull her gaze. Hisana should get going. Her new schedule this semester is less than optimal. Between classes, her job as a courier, her job as a supply stocker at the Academy Co-Op Student Store, and her job cleaning the mess hall at night, she doesn't have a whole lot of time to dwell on the past.

Sitting up, she arches her neck to get a better view of the path a stone's throw away. If she goes to the Co-Op now, she might be able to finish stocking her units early enough to take a shower before her first class. It's not like she's getting any sleep tonight.

And so, Hisana pockets the rubber ball in her sleeve, slides down from her branch, and sets out.

Winding her way down the path that leads to the few on-campus shops, Hisana hears a row. It sounds like it's coming from the outdoor shower stalls that were once the only place students from Rukongai could bathe, back when the Academy was more segregated. Now, the showers serve anyone needing a quick wash before heading into the thick of the day, usually during the summer months from what she recalls when she last attended.

They, however, are not in the thick of the day, and, while summer's heat is beginning to nip at spring's chill, the cherry blossoms are still in bloom. This likely means that whoever is fighting near the stalls in the dead of dawn is up to no good.

One stray glance is all Hisana needs to confirm this suspicion. She doesn't mean to, it's just…

It's just her nature.

Three boys are trouncing another boy. She thinks she sees one of the attacker's hands coated in blood when he rears back before resuming the pummeling.

She should do something.

Hisana hates doing something, though.

As a student from the Rukon, doing something usually comes with consequences. Negative consequences.

"Listen here, you Rukon rat! I'm gonna fucking kill you if you don't give me the shit you agreed upon," screams one of the attackers.

Well, that's it. She's invested now. No Rukon kid is getting murdered on her watch.

Stepping off the path, Hisana wraps her hand around the hilt of the bokken that she pilfered from one of the dojos when she decided to sleep in a tree. Due to Academy rules on openly carrying zanpakutō, Hisana stores her sword in her room when not in one of the designated training areas for zanpakutō. But, she's practical enough to know that Rukon girls who venture too far or who linger too long in the dark need protection.

"What are you doing?" she cries out.

Her voice grabs the attention of two of the three attacking boys. "Get out of here! This doesn't have anything to do with you, bitch!"

"You're going to kill him!" she shouts back.

"Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?"

Hisana isn't quite sure what possesses her to intervene as magnificently as she intervenes, but she snaps out two binding spells, both of which ensnare two of the three boys, dragging them both to the ground. She then dispatches the remaining boy with her bokken.

The victory would've been flawless had she not lost sight of one of her bound victims breaking free. Pain crackles across her lower back at the force of his kick, but she possesses enough strength to wheel around just in time to realize this kid came packing his own weapon.

A knife.

Live steel.

Reflexively, Hisana blocks his strike with her bokken. The blade instantly becomes lodged in the wood. All it takes is a sharp jerking rotation to knock the handle out of the boy's hand. Hisana then smashes the end of her bokken into his groin. When it connects, he gives an ear-piercing howl before folding over himself.

Taking this opening, Hisana slams her bokken into his back, sending him to the ground.

"Fucking dirty tricks," the boy still bound in her kidou growls.

Ripping the knife from the wood of her bokken, Hisana tosses the blade as far as she can, losing sight of it among the deep shadows. "Right because fighting three against one is much more dignified."

When the first boy that she sent to the dirt attempts to find his footing, she pins all three of them with her reiatsu. This display is just enough to convince them to yield, and, with a lot of belligerent flustering, they scurry away.

Hisana turns to the fallen Rukon boy whose face is bloodied and bludgeoned. The skin around his eyes and lips is already ballooning and turning red. He's not going to be able to see out of that thing for a while if she were to make a wager.

"C'mon," she says, offering him her hand.

The moment his hand wraps around hers, she hoists him up. "We should get you to the nurse," she continues.

"I don't know—"

"No, seriously," she cuts him off swiftly. "You need to be seen at the Fourth, but the only way to get there is with a referral from an Academy nurse."

There are other ways to get treated at the Fourth, like being sent on a field trip from hell. But, injuries sustained on Academy grounds generally require a referral from the Health Services Center.

From what Hisana remembers, the Health Services Center at the Academy is pitiful. Anything that requires treatment beyond mild painkillers or hydration is usually sent offsite, which is probably for good reason. That good reason being liability.

While the Kuchiki might not deign to send their heirs here, many other high-ranking noble families do and… well… an "oopsie daisy" isn't going to cut it if one of those families loses a member. Also, Hisana assumes that the Health Services Center inserts itself into the process so that it can maintain control over the students. Can't risk an unintelligible response when the high-ranking parents inquire as to what happened to their little darling who got roasted by a spell during kidou class.

"Won't they ask questions?" Panic braids the boy's voice.

"Yeah, but you can lie," says Hisana, lifting a shoulder in the barest of shrugs. "Although, you'd be surprised by how little the administration cares about the Rukon students." She says this last part to rationalize why it doesn't matter.

The callous disregard—bordering on contempt—with which the administration holds toward the Rukon students probably only comes as a surprise to those students hailing from better districts. This kid, though? He regards Hisana with such a world-worn stare that she knows he isn't from one of those districts. This kid doesn't even blink when she says the words. Instead, he nods as if to say, 'Yep, that checks out.'

"What happened?" asks Hisana, feeling the weight of his stare against her neck.

"Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing."

"One of the guys, Nobutada, is…." He pauses, seeming uncertain.

"Is what?"

"Well…."

She urges him with a glare.

"He's using ningyo."

Hisana blinks, nonplussed. "He's using a mermaid?"

The boy shakes his head. "No, it's a name of a drug. If you consume it, it temporarily enhances one's spiritual pressure."

She raises her brows. "Doping, you mean?"

"Yeah. He's part of the Zanjutsu Club, and there's a big tournament coming up. He's got some ridiculous amount of money tied up in him winning. He's pretty good so I don't—"

"You're making the drug?"

The boy nods. "Thing is, I haven't been able to get access to many of the ingredients because last winter caused supply chain issues, and-"

"Well, that sounds really unfortunate," Hisana interrupts him before he can try to conscript her into some terribly stupid idea.

The boy drops his head. "I know. I shouldn't do this shit. But…." His eyes slide back to her.

Hisana gets it. She gets it better than probably anyone else on campus. She knows all about poor justifications in the name of financial gain.

In this instance?

She has no doubt that the monetary reward for making a drug that a bunch of rich entitled assholes needs to get that edge has got to be way better than working three fucking on-campus jobs just to afford a meal and some warm clothing.

That's always the rub, though, with crime.

Crime pays… until… well… it doesn't.

"It is unfortunate," the boy sighs. "There's no way I get the supplies by the time of the next tournament."

"Have you considered turning him in? Illicit drug use is one thing that the admin takes seriously." It's one of the few things that gets nobles in trouble. What Hisana fails to mention is that the punishment for such an infraction is usually a short suspension if the violator is noble.

It's probably death by a kidou firing squad for someone from Rukongai.

"Nobutada would actually kill me if he found out," says the boy between wet coughs.

Hisana lifts a brow. "Seems like he's going to kill you if you don't provide the goods. If you report him and he gets suspended, you might survive long to get the hell out of here." She stops in front of the administrative building that houses the Health Services Center.

"Maybe," he says, skeptically.

"Well, good luck with whatever happens next."

Hisana steps onto the path leading to the Co-Opt.

"What's your name?"

Hisana doesn't flinch. Instead, she keeps walking, one foot in front of the other, pretending she didn't hear his question. She doesn't need that kind of trouble in her life.

So, Hisana's plan to show up early and get done stocking early was ambitious. In reality, she has to race to her class on Interdimensional Travel 101: How to Get There and Back Again Without Spaghettifying in Dangai.

Hisana hates this class since it requires her to think about math and physics at 7:45 in the morning. Today? She really hates it. On so little sleep, simple addition feels like a monumental task. Learning about the theoretical underpinnings of space-time? Out of the question. She longs for death in Dangai.

Once the class ends, Hisana rushes back to the dorm to shower and change into a fresh uniform. When she enters her room in search of a hair tie, both Tsuna and Ayami, who are members of some fan club, are laying on Tsuna's bed cackling over the latest edition of The Seireitei Communication.

Hisana often cackles at the stories featured in the magazine, but she imagines that it's for a very different reason.

Tsuna's and Ayami's attention appears to be fixed on the deplorable behavior displayed among their contemporaries. From the little that Hisana can glean amidst her search for an elastic band—or, hell, a ribbon—some nobleman abandoned his intended at the spring festival. This abandonment seems to draw immense pleasure from both Tsuna and Ayami.

Oh, sweet schadenfreude.

Hisana knows that feeling well.

Neither Tsuna nor Ayami has had the decency to supply either noble's name for Hisana to discern who these assholes are. Although, chances are high that Hisana wouldn't know the nobles anyhow. With the exception of the instructors, Hisana tries hard not to learn anyone's name in Seireitei since all anyone bothers to call her is, "girl," "peasant," or, if they're being pleasant, "Rukongai." Repaying their indifference with her own is as close to reciprocity as the protocols allow.

Somewhere between Ayami giggling over how the abandoned lady got lost in the market for an hour and Tsuna gasping at the pictures of what Hisana can only imagine evidences the lady's distress, Hisana finally finds a hair tie in the back of one of the writing desk's drawers. Her hands fly to her hair. Gathering up the fall of it, she winds the band around the base of the ponytail a couple of times.

"He abandoned her!" sings Ayami. "Even her own attendants thought she had left. She had no idea what to do."

Hisana's brows pinch together. "Does the lady not know where she lives?" Not that Hisana particularly wants to spring to the lord's defense since his conduct sounds deplorable. Who strands their date? The Gall! But, the fact that the lady seemed unable to find a way home in a city where she has been a resident for presumably centuries is… peculiar….

"Apparently not!" roars Tsuna in a fit of laughter.

Suddenly, Hisana feels like she may have asked the wrong question since that's sort of sad. It suggests that the lady must have been isolated and monitored in such a way as to prevent her from knowing how to escape from her family's clutches. Which is… a big yikes….

"Did the lord know that the lady was this helpless?" asks Hisana.

Ayami is the first to respond with a shrug. "Probably not. He knows the city well enough so as not to become lost without his staff."

Fair assumption. "Is the lady's family particularly protective of her?"

"Very!" says Tsuna. "She's been in training to be a lady of a great house since birth."

Well, there it is, more confirmation that the lady's perceived idiocy is really just a sign of abuse.

"So, who is the walking red flag that stranded her?" asks Hisana, smoothing the flyaways from the top of her ponytail.

"Lord Byakuya Kuchiki."

Oh... it's her walking red flag, which, now that she thinks about it, tracks.

Likely reading the surprise off her face, Ayami asks, "You used to be a Kuchiki maid, is the lord really this coldblooded?"

"No." Hisana responds so quickly and so forcefully that it sounds like a lie.

That's probably because it is a lie.

Byakuya had a reputation among the staff. A terrible one. But, he wasn't leave-you-to-the-wolves kind of bad… at least… not knowingly.

Usually.

Hisana's body tenses as if to protest this conclusion.

Byakuya had shoved her into a raging river, and he had done this very thing despite her imploring him not to. She had even gone as far as to reveal her fear of dying in a flood, telling him that was how she had died in the World of the Living.

He had been unmoved by her entreaties. Why? She can only guess. None of her guesses, however, paint him in a particularly sympathetic shade.

"Seems like you've changed your mind," says Ayami with a smirk.

Hisana shrugs. "He didn't seem that bad, but I didn't know him well."

"We should—" starts Tsuna.

Ayami cuts her off with a firm shake of the head. "No way. She wouldn't fit in."

Tsuna's lips part; however, she must think better of whatever she wants to say because her lips smack shut, and she exhales a small snort. "Fine."

Hisana grabs her zanpakutō and zips it into her carrying bag. Slinging the bag's strap over her shoulder, she stops at the door and says, "See you," to Tsuna, more out of courtesy than actual desire.

"Will I?" Tsuna's voice sing-songs through a giggle.

Hisana flings the door back, pointedly ignoring her roommate.

"Or will you be seeing Mr. Nightly tonight?" teases Tsuna.

"Who's Mr. Nightly?" asks Ayami.

"The guy that Hisana is seeing."

"You're seeing someone?" Ayami sounds genuinely surprised. "Who? The peasant boy from the Western Fifteen?" she chortles.

"I'm not seeing anyone," corrects Hisana. "I just like my twilight strolls."

"Doesn't seem like that when you dash out of here like you're on fire. Seems like you're seeing someone," counters Tsuna.

"Goodbye, Tsuna," says Hisana, closing the door behind her.

Class 2B's practical lessons for Zanjutsu 103: Key Lessons on How to Avoid Dying in the Coordinated Relief Station are held in one of the larger training dojos. The class starts out as usual with stretching. Hisana stores the bag containing her zanpakutō in her designated cubby, and, finding a quiet and mostly vacant space on the floor, she sits.

She's far too tired to try. Instead, she lays back and stares at the ceiling until the din of students grunting and chatting goes quiet. Only then does she force herself back up, eyes searching for the instructor, Mr. Yaniguchi.

Mr. Yaniguchi is a large man with a heavy build. On the top of his head sits a bird's nest of dark thinning hair, and he possesses a nose that appears to have been broken no fewer than fifteen times. He's always reminded Hisana of an ox, even when she attended the Academy decades ago. And, well, not much has changed on that front since then.

"Today we are going to learn about polearms," he says, and, to punctuate his enthusiasm, he claps his hands together.

A choir of groans soon follows.

"I know. I know," he replies in mock sympathy. "If we're being honest, most of you are never going to learn your zanpakutō's name-"

Another round of groaning commences.

"—and, even if you do learn its name, it's going to take years of diligently practicing with your sword to master it. So why learn about polearms, you ask?"

Hisana's inner cynic guesses that it's because Class One received a lesson on polearms and Mr. Yaniguchi was too tired to put away the demonstration weapons and devise a different lesson plan. So, polearms it is!

"It's because some of you possess zanpakutō that will release into a polearm, and you need to know how to wield it when it does so."

Groans quickly morph into protests.

"But why, Mr. Yaniguchi, if so few of us are going to be able to unlock our shikai?"

"Yeah, if few of us can learn its name then even fewer of us will have polearm releases."

"Aren't polearms for girls?"

Mr. Yaniguchi frowns. Deeply. At all of them. "Yes. Few of you will be able to achieve your zanpakutō's first release, and fewer of you yet will have polearm manifestations. But, knowledge of how to wield and fight against a polearm is critical. Further, the Academy's first and most important mission is to create well-rounded students, and knowing how to use multiple classes of weapons effectively promotes this mission."

What a bunch of babies, Hisana thinks, her eyes trailing to the wooden polearms. A quick count reveals that there aren't enough weapons for all of the students to practice at once, which makes sense. Class One has far fewer students if he's really repurposing their lesson for Class Two.

"Okay, I'm going to need volunteers," calls Mr. Yaniguchi.

Crickets.

Not a single hand goes up. Not even the gunners think this is worth the effort to score points with the instructor.

Hisana glances around the room. Some of the students look panicked as if perhaps they and their private tutors were expecting the polearms lesson to come later in their academic career. Others seem genuinely perplexed, whispering about how this lesson doesn't comport with today's selected readings.

Hisana wouldn't know either way, seeing as she's never bothered to review the syllabus or buy the book for this class. She's been winging it since Day One.

"Are you all really going to make me choose my own volunteers?" asks Mr. Yaniguchi, disappointment rattling in his voice.

Hisana feels pretty confident that she's far enough away that Mr. Yaniguchi won't choose her. The other students, however? Most of them flutter with nervous energy.

"Fine," Mr. Yaniguchi sighs, "Nobuyuki Fukui, you received the highest grade in the class last semester. C'mere."

Hisana leans back, her arms slanting behind her. She stretches out her shoulders, pressing her weight into her hands, and exhales a long, happy breath. She loves staring into the middle distance as opposed to thinking or doing something. She could do this all day. There's not a single worry in her head.

Until….

Her heart drops the second her gaze lands on whoever the hell Nobuyuki is. Adrenaline cascades through her, setting every nerve on edge. Her brain scrambles to make sense of the existential fear shooting through her.

Oh, shit.

She blinks and swallows hard.

It can't be. No way. Those kids were older, right?

Oh shit, indeed.

And, no amount of blinking is going to change the fact that shuffling his way to the center of the room is one of the boys that Hisana throttled this morning.

"Fukui," begins Mr. Yaniguchi, "pick your opponent."

Reflexively, Hisana scoots behind a larger boy, hoping that the wall of his back will hide her from sight. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach tells her otherwise. Specifically, it tells her that she's in trouble. Big trouble.

Nobuyuki's top lip lifts and his nose scrunches up reminiscent of how a dog's snout wrinkles right before it snaps its jaws. The boy slowly pans the fifty or so students scattered throughout the dojo. His eyes burn hot like coals in their search. When they finally land on her, they stop.

Hisana does everything in her power not to flinch.

"Her," he says, jerking his chin in Hisana's direction.

Following the boy's gaze, Mr. Yaniguchi stares out into the students. "Her? Which her?"

"The peasant. The one with the ponytail."

Hisana remains very still. Her breath catches in her chest. Maybe if she doesn't move no one can see her.

"Oh, Hisana?" Mr. Yaniguchi frowns. "Fine. Hisana, get up here." He gestures for her with a brusque wave.

Hisana pulls herself to her feet and lightly steps around the other students on her way to the center of the room. The weight of her fellow students' stares makes her skin feel like it's full of bugs, crawling and skittering every which way across her body. When she reaches Mr. Yaniguchi and Nobuyuki, Hisana gives Mr. Yaniguchi a mild nod.

To Nobuyki, however, she issues a smirk. "The black eye is festive," she says.

"You, stupid fu—"

"Hey, hey, hey," intervenes Mr. Yaniguchi, "no trash-talking. We keep things civil in class, got it?"

Both Hisana and Nobuyuki bow their heads.

"Good." Turning his attention to the class, Mr. Yaniguchi says, "So, we are going to see the strengths and weaknesses of both swords and polearms. Fukui, since you achieved the highest grade last semester, you get first choice: Sword or polearm?"

"Sword, clearly," Nobuyuki scoffs. "It's the most balanced weapon ever created."

"Musashi tell you that?" teases Hisana.

"Hisana," grumbles Mr. Yaniguchi under his breath. He then hands a bokken to Nobuyuki.

"I'm more of a The Art of War girl, myself," she continues, ignoring the instructor's warning, and moves to the assortment of wooden polearms. She selects a practice naginata, and, after testing its weight in her hand, returns to the center.

This might not be the worst public trouncing of her life.

"Let's test your respective baselines," says Mr. Yaniguchi.

Before the man can get all the words out of his mouth, Nobuyuki is already advancing.

Hisana's guard, however, proves almost impenetrable for the boy, and, the moment he stops to regroup, she sweeps his feet out from under him and points the curved end of the wooden naginata at his throat.

"Very good, Hisana," says Mr. Yaniguchi.

Hisana pulls away from Nobuyuki to rejoin Mr. Yaniguchi in the center as is custom. This, however, is a mistake.

Hisana senses this mistake before it fully metastasizes. It starts with the feeling of dread that you might get before falling down a flight of stairs. The fall is inevitable, there's nothing you can do now to stop it, but here you are, smacking into step after painful step as you careen all the way to the bottom.

Pain—raw and electric—fans across her back, and she is on the floor. Her hands and the wooden weapon are trapped under her for the first wave of lashes. When Nobuyuki makes the unforced error of snatching Hisana's head back by her ponytail, her arms wiggle free and she rips away from him, using the wooden polearm as a bludgeon until Nobuyuki steps away.

Hisana vaguely hears Mr. Yaniguchi's voice boom like thunder in the background as she lays into Nobuyuki with the wooden naginata. However, since the instructor's concern didn't seem that damn pressing when she was the one being laid out on the floor, her concern about breaking the sliding-scale that passes for rules around here isn't very fucking pressing either. And so she continues, asking if Nobuyuki yields with each strike that connects. (He doesn't.)

"Hisana!" bellows Mr. Yaniguchi, grabbing her arms and wrestling the practice weapon from her hands. "Let it go," he growls.

She stops squirming, but she doesn't acknowledge Mr. Yaniguchi. No, her entire world is laser-focused on Nobuyuki, who is trying to pick himself up off the ground. Blood trickles from a cut on his lip and streams from his nose.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he returns her glare with one of his own. "Fucking crazy cunt."

"Hisana," says Mr. Yaniguchi warningly.

At that moment, Hisana really resents being cautioned, and, so, she ignores Mr. Yaniguchi with a mouthy, "Well, this fucking crazy cunt just gave you a matching set."

Nobuyuki's gaze scatters, and he steps to the side as if he is about to turn away from her.

Right then, Hisana thinks that maybe—just maybe—he's about to let it go.

Wrong again.

Without hesitation, Nobuyuki wheels around and punches her square in the jaw with everything he has.

Trapped against Mr. Yaniguchi, Hisana has no choice but to take the attack full force, no flinching. She sees stars on impact.

"Furui!" cries Mr. Yaniguchi. His grip on Hisana releases, and she immediately crashes to the floor.

Gasping for air, she scrambles to get to her feet, ready for another round. Between the din of blood pounding in her head and the roar of students pressing closer to get a look at the scuffle now ensuing between the instructor and Nobuyuki, Hisana bends at the hip, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs, and she tries to pull deep breaths.

The pain in her jaw is so intense that she swears that the asshole broke it.

Two of the larger male students help subdue Nobuyuki before Mr. Yaniguchi ends the kid with his own bokken. He then places Nobuyuki in a kidou restraint, ropes of buttery gold wrap around the boy, and he falls to the floor.

"Hisana, get your ass to the Health Services Center," orders Mr. Yaniguchi. "Your jaw is broken."

Must look as bad as it feels, she thinks before turning to the door. The crush of students parts to allow her to take her leave. Never has she been more grateful to be dismissed early from class.

After an hour-long wait at Health Services and another two hours spent at the Coordinated Relief Station, Hisana misses her last two classes, but she's released in time for her to make her rounds as Squad Eight's courier. It's later than usual, but she has two doctor's notes detailing her tardiness and excusing her from her afternoon classes, which is better than her usual reasons for never being on time and skipping class, respectively, she guesses.

When she arrives at the Eighth, the main office is dead. All of the workstations are empty, including the lieutenant's desk. Maybe there's some sort of event tonight, Hisana wonders tiredly as she makes her way to the back of the office where the mail is usually piled high. Most of the transmittals go to Squad One with a few mixed in for Squad Two and for the legislative administrative buildings.

Tonight? Not a whole lot going on. There are a few envelopes for the First. A few other letters have been inappropriately sorted into the "out" pile which appear to be invitations to events addressed to the captain.

"Your jaw looks perfectly fine to me," comes a voice that Hisana knows well.

Unfortunately well….

"Captain?" She peeks inside his office, where she finds him lounging on the little green couch that he keeps in the corner. A straw hat is balanced precariously over his eyes. Hanging just above the couch is a large window that has been left open to allow fresh air and light into the space.

"Invitations to a few social gatherings," she says, crossing over the room's threshold.

"You know, I've done a lot of meddling in my time," he says, voice muffled under the hat.

"Umm-hmm," she hums, setting the letters on his desk.

"Last time I was a benefactor to a student at the Academy, the only notices I ever got were for awards."

Uh-oh.

"Imagine my surprise after getting several notices from the Academy today. My first thought was, 'Oh, is it awards season? So soon?'"

Wincingly, she sinks down, shoulders rising to her jaw and chin pressing against her neck.

"Well, come to find out that those notices were not for awards. They were to alert me to your poor performance. 'Strange,' I thought to myself. 'Hisana's prior record was sterling. The Academy's curriculum hasn't changed that much in the last few decades.' Then, it dawned on me."

Hisana creeps closer to the door, but, the moment she feels the heat of his gaze against her cheek, her feet hesitate to take another step. "What dawned on you, Captain?" she asks against her better judgment.

"That you are trying to flunk out of the Academy. Which, I got to hand it to you, is cute. But..."

Her heart picks up the pace, and her mouth goes dry. "But?"

"There's no failing out of the Academy, Hisana. Not for you."

She glances over her shoulder at him, not liking the sound of that. Not one bit.

"If that's what you were planning, it won't work."

That was, in fact, her plan.

Except….

Hisana quickly realized that failure wasn't an option when nothing happened to her after the autumn semester's grades were released. She didn't even get a notice of poor performance. Winter's semester grades weren't much better, but, at least, she hadn't failed all of her classes.

"You can make what you will of this experience. Get everything you can out of it or not. Either way, you're stuck here."

"Stuck here?" Her brows pull together. The words taste like acid. "What does that mean?"

"You know your zanpakutō's name. So, now, your options are to join the Gotei 13 or something Gotei 13 adjacent. No one is letting you run wild out in the Rukon. Not with that power. Especially not after what you did."

She exhales a long breath.

It's just as she feared. She escaped this place once before with no desire to ever return. Then, she came back on a fucking suicide mission, and, now, she's trapped with no way out.

"I recommend trying."

She frowns.

"What if I pay you for grades?"

Hisana gives him a quiet sideways look. "I'm listening."

"15,000 kan for 'S' marks."

"What about middling marks?"

"12,000 kan for 'A's,' 9,000 kan for 'B's,' and 6,000 kan for 'C's.'" He considers her from under the brim of his hat. "If you book a class, 30,000 kan."

"Deal."

Hisana thinks about Captain Kyōraku's deal on her way to the bridge at twilight. She may be able to make top marks in kidou and hohō, but she's a lost cause when it comes to zanjutsu and hakuda. She would need to sink time that she doesn't have into those two disciplines just to get to "good." That investment isn't worth the potential payout not when she can put her time to better use in the subjects for which is more naturally inclined.

Six thousand kan isn't nothing, she reminds herself. Even if she can't get the elusive "S" grade in either zanjutsu or hakuda, she's confident that she can swing a "C."

Maybe if she does well enough this semester, she can quit one of her jobs. She gets a discount on books and supplies at the Co-Opt so goodbye mess hall job.

The mess hall job, ugh.

She still has to look forward to that tonight.

Wonderful.

Deflating, Hisana trudges across the bridge to her usual place.

What if I fake my death?

It's a possibility. She's got to be on both Nobutada's and Nobuyuki's shit list. They might be plotting their revenge right now. How fortuitous would that be? They could be unwitting allies in ensuring her self-destruction.

Who's she kidding? Escape is a dream. She's better off trying to focus on her studies. Once she graduates and can enjoy a sliver of freedom, then she can fake her death and disappear forever into the Rukon. Maybe she'll find her sister. Settle down. Live a quiet life.

"You look terrible."

Hisana's head jerks to the side. Defensively, she fires back, "Well, you look—" she wants to say, "scruffy," but, when she finally sees Byakuya through her agitation, the word slides all the way down her throat.

Because he doesn't look scruffy.

He actually looks quite nice standing there dressed in insanely expensive silks, the kind that shimmers.

He must have an event. Not surprising. With the cherry blossoms in full bloom, there are plenty of viewing parties and festival activities taking place across the city.

"So, where are you going tonight?" she asks once they cross into the estate.

His eyes slide to her. "Should I change since I look…."

Sometimes it's hard to tell if he's mocking her, what with his patented surly tone, but right then… right then… she knows.

He's definitely mocking me.

"I mean I would. You look awfully stuffy in that get-up," she replies. "Must be uncomfortable, too, what with that sour look on your face."

"What would you suggest instead, then?"

"Something light. Something airy. Something with a little give in case you need to ditch your date."

He smirks at her. "You read the society pages of The Seireitei Communication, I see."

Hisana doesn't want to admit this fact, but there it is. Guilty as charged. "My roommate reads the society pages."

"Of course. You only read the editorials." He shoots her an impish look.

A wide grin stretches across her face. "I only read peer-reviewed journals, actually."

He shakes his head at her, disbelief gleaming in his eyes. "I see."

She wants to ask him whether there was any truth to the story, but she thinks better of this question as they enter the training dojo.

It's the women's training dojo. She knows this because it's the one that edges a small piece of abandoned wilderness. This particular dojo has always seemed to be on the verge of blinking into oblivion. The Kuchiki estate is full of forgotten places like this one, though. Hisana imagines that once whatever memories these halls, rooms, gardens, and dojos possess are finally lost with the passing of the oldest generation of Kuchiki that they, too, will be taken and repurposed by the wilds of ambition or wilderness.

"What happened to you?" Byakuya demands once they are inside.

Buttery golden light still shines through the gloaming, and Hisana slides open one of the windows to allow the light to filter into the dojo.

When she stares out of the window instead of answering him, Byakuya proceeds to the "pointed observation" portion of his indignation. "You reek of modified kaidou, which means you were sent to the Fourth."

So, he's a little more perceptive to kaidou and its effects than he lets on…. Also, ouch. Leave it to Byakuya to package his worry into an insult.

Hisana shrugs. "It's the Academy. Students sometimes go to the Fourth."

When she turns around, he is standing in front of her. Close, but not indecently close. His gaze, however, probes her with the weight of a finger jabbing into the flesh of her jaw and neck.

This is new, she thinks. He didn't seem that observant of her patched-up injuries before, which means….

Her kaidou lessons are actually working!

Which also means….

She's equipped him with more ways to scrutinize her.

Bitter realization then hits her like a hammer to the head. No wonder his default is to keep his defenses raised to full mast every second of every day. It's probably a reflex from decades of spiritual dissection at the hands of his family. The same kind of spiritual dissection that he is inflicting on her now.

Choosing to ignore all of this, Hisana lifts her head and says, "Do you want to practice or what?"

His brows twitch, but the tension locking his jaw eases. This is about as much of a capitulation as she's ever managed to tease out of him so….

It'll have to do.

Sinking into seiza, she sits with her back as straight as it will go and her shoulders even. It doesn't take much effort to urge her garments off her shoulder. She feels Byakuya draw close. She hears the sharpness of the breath he pulls as he explores the damage. The bruising probably looks worse than it is as the medics at the Fourth had already seen to the worst of her injuries.

But, judging by the heaviness of his breath against her neck, it must still look pretty bad.

She knows when he begins because a prickle of pain drives into her back. Reflexively, her fingers curl in the fabric of her red hakama once the prickle turns into a fiery burning. He's upset. She feels it first in his reiatsu, its resonance buzzes and snaps at hers impatiently. He's always been deeply impatient, a fact that surprised her at first but one that she now comes to expect. The other tell of his emotions, and how consuming they must feel to him, is the manner in which he backslides into tendencies that she thought had been mastered.

Instead of urging her reiatsu to follow his and to allow for his support to expedite the healing process, he attempts to force her to bend to him, as if she is an opponent that he intends to force into submission through willpower alone. This is painful. She can almost feel the little damaged capillaries weaving under her skin fraying against his forcefulness.

Hisana braces instead of ripping away, though. She wants him to see the effects of his efforts, to see that brute strength does not promote healing. You can't white-knuckle your way to better health.

It takes longer than she thinks it will for him to yank away, to realize his failure. When he does, cold air stings her back before seeping a bit further still.

"I can't," he says.

From the corner of her eye, she catches their shadows flickering against the wall. She catches the way his head bends down. She catches the moment he sinks, defeated.

"You can." She peers at him from over her shoulder. His eyes look closed, but that's just the angle. The light, dim as it is now, flickers in his eyes just enough to tell her that he's staring at the tatami.

"Who did—" he begins.

But she cuts him off with a quiet, "You can, but not like that."

He tips his head back and searches her face. "Tell me."

He looks at her just like his reiatsu felt. Demanding. Angry. Impatient. "You can't heal—"

"I'm not a healer, Hisana," he says as if he means to shake her with this fact. "That's not…."

"That's not, what?"

"That's not—" He looks away, jaw tight, fire in his eyes. "That's not what I'm good at."

"You could be. You certainly possess—"

"That's not who I am."

"I don't understand. Everyone—"

"Not me."

"Then, who are you?" she asks, knowing that this question is a trap for the both of them.

Again, he turns away from her.

"You're angry," she supplies as soothingly as she can manage, "but that's just a transitory—"

"I'm always angry," he says under his breath in a voice so low and so dark that she doesn't think he intends for her to hear it.

Hisana places her hand over his. She wants to tell him that she, too, is angry. Perpetually angry. At everything. At Everyone. All the time. But….

She's not angry with him. At least, not right now. Give it a minute, though, and that might change.

His thumb strokes a gentle circle against her knuckle, and the tension in his face melts.

"That's okay," she says, squeezing his hand. "Although…." She quirks a brow. "You don't seem that angry right now."

"How would you know?"

She scoots a little closer to him. "Just a feeling." Then, she fishes inside her sleeve pocket and produces the little rubber ball.

"What's that?" he asks with the expression of someone who has just been asked to examine a bug.

"The Bounce Back Ball." She places it in his hand.

"The what?"

"The Bounce Back Ball. It promotes wellbeing."

"How?"

"Good question. When I asked the nurse at the Fourth today, she gave me this answer." Hisana smiles politely and shrugs, just as the nurse had. "So, I'm pretty sure it's magic."

Byakuya grins at her, and she can tell he wants to chuckle at the ridiculousness of this idea.

"Hey, I wouldn't argue with Captain Unohana and her Bounce Back Balls." She says and cocks her head to the side.

"Perish the thought," he says, taking her head cock just as she had intended, as an invitation to kiss her.

Before their lips touch, a pounding at the door forces them apart.

"Lord Kuchiki, your guest awaits," a strange male's voice sounds from outside the door. Given that the man doesn't burst into the dojo, Hisana assumes he's probably an attendant.

"Tomorrow?" asks Hisana.

Byakuya nods. "Tomorrow."