"Memories of decades"
"Chire—" Byakuya began to release his Shikai when, suddenly, Yoruichi appeared. In an instant, she wrapped a special cloth around his sword, halting its transformation.
She looked at her former student—her favorite student—wondering what had become of the bratty but kindhearted boy he once was. The boy who had always carried a strong sense of justice. How did he become this man who now stood in silent compliance with an unjust execution?
Byakuya's gaze sharpened as he fought back, but the cloth she had used was a special Shihoin clan technology, effectively sealing his Shikai.
Before he could counter, Yoruichi suddenly turned away and dashed toward Ichigo. Without hesitation, she grabbed him and leaped onto the high bridge of the Sōkyoku.
Ichigo's eyes widened as he realized what was happening.
"No!" he protested. "What are you doing?! Why take me instead of Rukia and the others?"
Yoruichi didn't slow down. "You're no match for Byakuya without a Bankai," she stated firmly. "You will die."
Rukia stood frozen, stunned by the scene unfolding before her. The exiled princess of the Shihoin clan had just fought Byakuya and then suddenly escaped with Ichigo. She didn't fully understand what had happened, but a small part of her felt relieved—at least Ichigo had gotten away.
Byakuya remained on the bridge, his expression unreadable. As he glanced at Rukia, he saw her staring down into the darkness where Yoruichi and Ichigo had vanished. He said nothing and turned away.
Captain Ukitake and his third seat, Shintarō, arrived moments later.
"Rukia," Ukitake called gently. His heart ached at the sight of her.
He remembered the day she had first joined his squad—so refined, so aristocratic. Yet, with Kaien's guidance, she had slowly opened up, growing more confident and happy. He had never seen her more radiant than the day she awakened her Shikai, beaming with pride. But after Kaien's death, that light had faded. She had withdrawn from everyone, as though convinced that letting people close would only bring them misfortune.
For decades, he had never seen her form a true bond with anyone.
Yet now, watching how the Ryoka fought for her, it was clear—she had finally allowed herself to care again.
And yet…
Shintarō silently stepped forward, lifting Rukia's frail body from the cold ground and carrying her back to the tower. She felt so small, so weightless in his arms. Though they had rarely spoken, he knew of her struggles. He had long understood that killing one's own mentor and friend was a burden few could bear.
Rukia remained silent, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Why does everyone I care about always end up hurt?
She had already lost so much.
Her childhood friends.
Kaien.
And now… Ichigo might die, too.
The night had fallen, and the clock ticked away the silent hours. Most people had already drifted into slumber in the comfort of their homes, yet Byakuya had not returned to the manor. Instead, he stood in front of Rukia's prison, just as he had done countless times before—ever since the night she killed Kaien.
He understood the agony of losing a loved one, but to be the one who took their life… that was a torment beyond words. Tonight, as her muffled sobs echoed through the stillness, they stirred long-buried memories, reopening wounds he thought had faded. A sharp, piercing ache lodged itself in his chest, as if he, too, were suffering the weight of her guilt.
"Rukia," he whispered, but the moment the name left his lips, he froze. Realization struck him like a blade, and he turned away abruptly, resisting the impulse that had nearly overtaken him.
Just that afternoon, he had fought against her would-be rescuers, preventing them from taking her away—protecting her in the only way he could. If she escaped with them, Soul Society would hunt them to the ends of the world. And when that happened, she would be forced to witness their deaths before her eyes, just as she had before. He could not let that happen.
And yet…
Byakuya stood with his back to the tower, his expression unreadable, his resolve unwavering. Until the inevitable moment arrived, he would remain here, guarding her from the shadows. Because he knew the truth—there were far worse fates than death.
to be continued ...