He was far too old to be putting whelps in their place, but he was an elder, and what was the job of an elder if not to teach?
He was a man with faults, yet he was nothing if not a good teacher. Shunsui and Ukitake were testaments to that. He had dragged those two brats kicking and screaming and molded them into worthy captain-class figures in mere centuries.
He released a soft sigh before letting his features sink into a stone mask. With a brief crack of his neck, he slammed the butt of his cane hard enough to crack concrete and sink inches deep, enough for it to stand on its own power.
The four men, if they could even be called that considering they were not even close to their first century. No, he corrected himself internally; the four whelps had grown overly bold without a true hand to guide them.
They jerked roughly at the sharp ringing of the staff hitting the ground, heedless of the fact he just buried four inches of wood into stone.
"Stay back there, gramps; beating up an old cripple is not half as fun," the lead whelp called out with a smirk on his face.
With a plan set in motion, he truly looked at the assailants. The leader was well built, he also had his blond hair skinned low and carried a mustache that almost rivaled Yamamoto's more glorious own.
"When you decide to refuse submission, do not do it half-heartedly, child," Yamamoto finally spoke. His voice was a grave thing that ground and drew all attention to him, yet the focus of his half-lidded eyes rested on the child that had driven him to the city with a pure heart.
With a single step, he left the cane behind and walked forward, his sandal-clad feet echoing on the pavement of the tarred ground louder than they should.
To the form of four men ahead, they puffed up and postured in confusion.
His first step had them laughing; he could see the thoughts form in their heads. What could an old one-armed man do to them?
By his second, their laughter had been strangled in the crib of their false humor, as that lizard part of their brain that told their ancestors to fear fire screamed something was wrong. Screamed that they should not be sweating this much so close to winter.
"Conviction is the repetition of action that leads to belief. So do not just decide, act."
The echo of his voice and the third step ringing on the ground had them shuffling and looking around nervously, despite how hard they tried to hide their sudden illogical fear.
His fourth step sent the three lackeys scrambling back, even if they didn't know or understand why. Yet, their leader stood his ground, with alcohol-infused ignorance and an atrophied sense of preservation, he flexed his muscles tight and puffed up his chest in a primitive display of intimidation.
He stepped up to the leader of the pack; they were of a height, even if Yamamoto was hunched over. Reddish-black eyes stared into a deep blue that held confusion and anger. A potent mix even if it was missing one important emotion.
Fear.
He raised his single hand and squeezed it into a fist. "Oh, t-the old man is going to hit you with a scary right hook, better watch out!" One of the more cowardly welp cried out in humor as he finally found his voice from ten meters behind them, even if the sheer effort he took to speak cracked it and exposed his false bravado for what it truly was.
"Alright, gramps, why don't you-"
"And when you finally decide to rebel against the order of this world, always strike first," he ended his speech by cocking his fist back and opening it wide before swinging it into the side of the blue-eyed thug's face.
The collision of his palm against the bearded face of the whelp sent out a thunderous sound as he hit hard enough to whip the man horizontally in a comical fashion sending his already unconscious head was crashing into the floor with eyes rolled back and broken teeth left behind.
A slap was a millennia-old way of schooling whelps, and he had a long time to teach their ilk. He peered down at the unconscious form of the bearded man, although he might have to restrain himself even more than he thought the next time he had to scold one of their kind.
A shattered jaw, a pulverized cheekbone, a cracked left skull, and the near total loss of teeth all from a single restrained slap.
He had known humans were weak, but still, he had expected better. His only true interactions with their ilk in recent centuries had been with the child of the former captain, Kurosaki.
One of the whelps stumbled back with terrified wide eyes and pulled something out of his waistband with a rough motion. With trembling arms, he aimed it at him.
A gun, Yamamoto noted with amusement. The mortal's solution to violence in recent centuries and an end be to most.
"So you've chosen death then," he noted with finality.
Escalation was a feat used by the weak and desperate. For what use would the truly strong need for it, and what would the weak do when met with an even greater force?
The rack of a weapon rang out from behind him, seconds before a gunshot tore through the sky above them.
"Run off, you miniature Nazi bastards, or the next shot is going straight for your little pale-skinned ass."
Yamamoto glanced back and beheld the whelps' unknowing savior. An older Asian gray-haired woman, almost of age with his physical form, with a small stature and a double-barreled gun in her hands, which she had diverted to point at the pistol-wielding welp.
The three thugs rounded about to run off before she called out once more.
"And make sure to scrape that pasty-bearded Hitler and his teeth off my front lawn, or he'll be sleeping with the demon of the deep before the day is over."
Two of the thugs backtracked before making a valiant effort to drag the broken and fallen form of their leader after them.
Yamamoto turned away from them fully before walking to where his cane remained buried and removing it in one smooth motion.
"That's enough gawking, you brats; get back to playing. Big granny Sachiko is almost done with your cookies."
He rounded about and walked to the struggling form of Jin. He rendered no aid and simply watched the child struggle to his feet, even as he cradled his still-broken nose in his.
"Sowrry frr twe mwess-"
"Stop flapping those fish lips and spraying blood on our guest, Jin and get that nose fixed inside the house. Children of these days, back in Vietnam we fought tooth-"
"-And nail for every scrap we wanted and even had the great America running away with their tales between their legs. We have heard it a thousand times Grandma!" The still-loitering children cut in and finished her sentence in unison, bearing wide smiles and with the air of something repeated often.
"You bunch of insatiable brats, embarrassing me before our guest, I'll skin your bums!" She hollered at the giggling and retreating forms of the children.
Then she ducked back in and hung the long gun somewhere beside the door before ducking back out and greeting him with a polite tone and a deferential bow.
"Welcome to our home, revered guest; I hope you do not mind the little disturbance a while ago. I apologize that you felt an interference was needed." She let out in perfect Japanese, even though she implied she wasn't Japanese earlier.
"No apologies are needed; it is the want of children to be boisterous, and it is the duty of the elders to guide and teach."
She raised her head and smiled back at him. "I'm glad that was sorted amicably," for a given definition. "Now please come on in. We don't often get visiting elders from the homeland."
He nodded at the invitation and walked into what he was beginning to believe was something of an orphanage and community housing all in one.
His introduction into this weird world he had found himself in was slow, and what information he had gotten was gained after long hours of drinking tea with Sachiko while his eyes were closed and deep in thought.
When asked about his origins, he refused to give a definite answer, and other than a glance at his arm, the woman had neglected to press further.
Admitting his lack of knowledge about the world was more painful than sacrificing his left hand to activate a forbidden Hado, yet he had already resolved the issue of receiving aid from the mortals.
His inquiry on the world was met with a brief silence from the woman before she began to speak.
On the dichotomy between this world's version of good and evil. Heroes and villains. Endbringers and Scion. She had callous regard for the mortal version of their supposed protectors and the villains that seemed to plague this specific city.
Yet she had fear in her voice when she spoke of these Endbringers.
"You do not seem to respect this protectorate you speak off much, why?" He finally gave words to his thoughts.
"Because they don't do much other than flaunt whatever new flying bike or car they have in or stunts while we lose more people to the gangs every day."
Her tone was laced with bitterness and hurt. This was something personal to her, something that hurt and shaped her enough for her to stick a weapon in her house and also create a safe space for her kind.
A place for children.
Superheroes and supervillains. The concept was an unfamiliar one.
In other news, the UN has come together and is sending in supplies to the half-submerged remains of Kyushu, after an attack by Leviathan claimed what we fear is a record charting nine million lives lost and over thirty billion dollars in terms of property dama-
The gray-haired woman scrambled for the remote before muting the TV with a frown on her face. Seeing his inquisitive look, she explained.
"That's all they've been playing for over a week now. Over a week, and anybody with more than two brain cells can see the signs.
Japan is dead.
Fallen to the demon of the deep sea, and the rest of Asia is next. I had originally assumed you were a refugee from there, I'm sure Jin did too," she gave him another calculating look before continuing, "If that is okay with you, we will stick to that story."
He gave a disinterested nod while he stared at the devastation shown in the wake of the Endbringers.
A once bustling city of millions, submerged and sundered by a single creature. Over nine million lives were lost in a single day, and things like this supposedly occurred every few months. Even for a being of untold millennia like him, the scale of such feat, such death was… unsettling.
"And they've never been killed?"
He asked her, even as his attention remained solely on the scene playing out on the television in front of him.
She scoffed before replying, "You do not kill an Endbringer, Yamamoto-san. You only survive one. Even with that, few enough people do." She finished before standing up and clearing the table.
"We'll see."
She gave him a surprised look before her eyes were drawn to his cane as she gave him another calculating look. She was a perceptive one, he noted. With good instincts too.
"I'll set up the guest room at the end of the hallway; you're free to stay for as long as you want."
He gave her another nod while he kept his attention focused on the television. An Endbringer, eh? He wondered as he picked up signs of destruction reminiscent of what he could achieve without unsealing his bankai.
Sections of buildings were scorched black by intense heat, and whole areas were flash-dried by whatever caused the heat. Something or someone had fought the Endbringer, and even though they caused such enormous damage to the landscape, they still failed to kill it.
The thought rang in his head, what would it take to kill one of them? If he was forced to, could he release Ryujin Jakka in the human world?
This world was whole in a way the human world he was familiar with wasn't, and it was stronger for it. So just maybe…