Sorry for disappearing, everyone! I've been working very hard on the version available on AO3 and forgot it was up here. I'll be posting the other chapters bit by bit, but they take work to reformat for this site.

Freezing inside and freezing outside. I didn't know why I bothered to hang out in my dorm room if it was nearly as cold as the ice-crushed world outside. That slight temperature increase was only due to the presence of another warm body in there. Which, come to think of it, was probably most of the reason I spent any more time than I had to here.

"Have a fun time without me?" Shinju didn't look up as I entered the room. Her brush stained the pale paper in front of her with black ink, smooth, fluid strokes that I could probably have learned something from.

I resisted the initial urge to roll my eyes. An hour back and I'd already pissed her off?

Wait a sec. Shinju. Pissed off. I didn't need Arashi's almost-storm clouds rolling in my soul to know that this was exactly the opposite of normal. And that despite the alarm bells clanging in my head, I didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with it.

"If you count my relatives practically emptying our stores of sake and my crazy great-great-great-aunt ranting about me falling in love with Aizen-san fun, I guess." I shrugged off my jacket, draping it over one of the wardrobe's knobs. "Could've used you. My little cousin that we brought back has the temper of a wild dog."

"Who's she? Anyone I might have heard of?" Shinju's brittle voice asked. I couldn't say that Shinju had asked the question. Shinju had retreated into this pretty little shell to let habit do the talking.

Empathy. I need empathy. But what's the problem? What'd I do? I thought frantically, turning away to set Arashi on the sword rack to hide my discomfort. 'Without me.' Is she feeling lonely? Unwanted? Is it what I didn't do?

I went with that, brushing imaginary dirt off my hakama as I plopped down beside her. "I doubt it," I said so she couldn't try to deflect me by saying I hadn't answered her question. "What's wrong, Junko?"

I'd just opened my mouth to repeat myself when her head jerked up. Should've expected a delayed reaction from a Kuchiki retainer, slow to adapt in war as they were in peace. "What did you call me?" she snapped, twilight reiatsu grating against mine. Her brush creaked ominously in a white-knuckled grip.

"Junko," I answered, adopting that neutral tone and expression that pissed people off with how bland and inoffensive it was. "I know I should've asked to drop the honorifics, but it is a nickname."

Shinju's breath hissed through her teeth. In and out, slow and shuddering. Her face, drenched in the watery winter light, twitched. When she'd taken about five rhythmic breaths, Shinju spoke again. "Are you trying to get me mad? I should've known it would take a while for a Hirako's true colors to show. Nariko." She added my name in an afterthought that managed somehow to convey even more rage than already simmered in her tightly-controlled voice.

Well, that was easy. "Yes," I said, dropping the mild mask. "You've been avoiding talking about whatever's bothering you ever since- ever since I killed Oshiro." I took a deep breath of my own. Across the room, Arashi thrummed with satisfaction. Damn spirit, trying to make everything a problem to be solved. She'd been nagging me to cut the tangled knot of my guilt and straighten things out with Shinju the whole way back. "How am I supposed to know what you're thinking unless I hit you hard enough to crack open your shell, 'pearl'?"

I didn't have time to congratulate myself on that turn of phrase when she finally turned to look at me head on. "Can't you just look at me and know? Isn't that what you're supposed to be good at, ferreting out information before someone's even said a word to you?" The flat, hard tone was gone, replaced by the bitter lilt of someone who'd already started to crack. Oh, Shinju.

Still, my teeth ground. I clasped my hands together as my pulse pounded in them, ready to tighten into fists and sock Shinju one. Wouldn't it be nice to see that delicate face marred by a broken jaw.

No. It wouldn't. Shinju was hurting and lashing out. She didn't even know what my parents had said to me. No point in getting mad. I took another deep breath before mustering the words to reply.

"That's not fair," I said, leaning towards her."I'm not my clan. Neither of us is." It was a gamble, albeit one that didn't have much riding on it. But family troubles were a pretty good bet for a minor noble's second daughter fresh from New Year's celebrations. "How about we talk as just ourselves?"

"You aren't, though," she said, lower lip trembling. "You're Shinji-kun's second, and main family of your clan, and y-you have a spirit and everything. It's not fair!"

Second? I put that aside for later thought. Arashi's hilt shimmered near-purple as the light dribbling in through the window grew stronger. "Fairness? If there's someone who judges how worthy you are by your personality, you should have a Zanpakutou, not me."

Shinju sighed, gaze dropping to her lap. Her brush clattered to her desk, spattering it with blots of ink like the flower petals that adorned her sleeves. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about school when we're technically still on vacation. How'd it go after I left?"

I frowned, ready to insist on talking about whatever was bothering her. But there was a catch in her throat, all but begging me to answer her question and let the conversation flow away from the nasty, prickly problems. Or maybe my own willingness to believe that she wanted that. Either way, she wasn't going to say anything more. "It went. We froze our butts off when that snowstorm hit, but the actual New Year's celebration was fun. I got so much mochi!" I clapped my hands over my childish smile at remembering the sweet, squishy treats. I could practically taste them. Or maybe the snow's resemblance to powdered sugar was getting to me. I let my hands fall to tug at my kimono sleeve, a number in beautiful golden-cream laced with delicate red camellias. "And this, actually. It was a reward for getting Shikai, or something."

Shinju sniffled, turning to face me fully. "What do you mean, 'or something'? They didn't officially make you a princess?"

I shrugged. The kimono was a sign of approval in itself, tasteful and seasonally appropriate. "They had a lot on their hands at the time. Gossip stops for no man." I grinned at her. "Especially not when all the nobles have just had huge parties. Always a little dirt to scrape up. I bet they'll get around to it sooner or later."

Shinju's silvery brows drew together, smoothing a moment later as she appeared to come to some sort of internal resolution. "Well, I suppose that's true. Although I'm not sure if you could call my family's New Year's gathering a party, you know? Everything's so-"

"Traditional?" I guessed, trying to picture a Kuchiki party and failing. There would probably be protocols for small talk and rules about gift-giving and all that.

Shinju's frown reappeared and vanished again. A lot of her expressions, I noted, were transient, seen briefly before resuming a placid mask. "Subdued. Really pretty, really nice, just... quiet, you know." Her hakama rustled as she shifted position. Shinju's perpetual slight smile widened, looking almost genuine. "My brother and I composed this beautiful renga together. And everyone else agreed! That it was beautiful, that is. Let me see if I can remember a line." She tapped her chin with a finger that was, naturally, unmarred by ink. How some people managed to do that was beyond me. "Ah, here we go. 'Frost-crested branches—in them, golden spring promised, yet zouni beckon.' That was the opening verse, I think."

I drummed my fingers on my desk, counting out the rhythm. Well, it worked. Who knew Shinju had a knack for poetry? Actually, thinking about it, what did I know about her that wasn't school- or family-related? Not enough. I'd never been good at working with others and it showed now. Note to self: fix that. "Pretty! Did you get an award?" I tilted my head at her, trying to channel all my energy into being girly and sociable and likable.

Apparently it worked, because Shinju's smile widened and kept up the genuine look while it did. "Do you really need an award besides bragging rights? But yes, we did. My brother got this ornament for his Zanpakutou and I got this paperweight!" She fished a lump out from under her sleeve. I blinked away sun spots as the sun came out from behind a cloud and caught whatever it was. Jeez, someone likes their shinies. When my vision cleared, Shinju was holding out-

Shiny! chirped sparks and foam.

Waking up, magpie? I teased before turning my attention back to the aforementioned shiny. Shinju was holding out possibly the only paperweight that could make me actually want a paperweight. A lurid blue morning glory turned its blossom toward me. Smaller morning glories ringed it, trailing green vines and leaves spreading out in iridescent teal.

"What's it made of?" I asked, using my gaping mouth for one of its actual purposes. "That can't be stone. Right?"

Shinju beamed. "See, there is something you don't know. It's glass! The flowers were painted on with molten colored glass, I think my lady mother said. The glass workers would know." She flapped a hand like she didn't really care about the process or the workers. "And the way it shimmers... I forget, honestly. I was just happy to win, you know?"

"Sheesh," I commented, drawing on the sly charm that was my birthright, "if that's what you get for winning poetry contests, I should start writing!" And then promptly ruined it by adding, "Speaking. Whatever."

Shinju giggled. She picked up her brush again and finished the letter, or what I assumed to be a letter. One quick, neat folding later and Shinju was tying it up. Yep, letter.

"Didn't you just see your family?" I asked, idly playing with a wisp of reiatsu. Well, idly wasn't the right word for it. It took more concentration than I'd hoped to have to move it when it wasn't tethered to my skin. My grades in Kidou weren't shaping up to be as stellar as my skill with essays. "Leave something behind?"

She glanced up from her letter, giving me the mixed innocent-annoyed look that nearly had me ready to punch her again. "You didn't see the notice? There's an end-of-the-year field trip for first-years. My brother warned me about it, so I thought I'd send a letter home so they knew if I didn't respond it wasn't because I'd been kidnapped, you know?" The smirk from before flickered across Shinju's face. "You really didn't know? It's more of an internship, from what I've heard. Different every time, so no one has an advantage."

Aw, fuck. There goes all my plans. No familiar bed, no library, no warning. I've heard of practical exams, but this is ridiculous! I swallowed back the bitter anger in my throat. I was too old to be whining, dammit. But I'd just gotten back- No whining! "Where is it? I didn't see anything," I said, fighting the groan dragging my voice a few notes lower. "You'd think I'd-"

"-there's a notice board at the center of campus," Shinju interrupted. She was having a field day with knowing more than me, wasn't she.

We need to work on your anger management, daoshi, Arashi mused. People can be aware of things you aren't.

I know, I snapped back. It's just kinda annoying that she has to be so smug about it!

The curl of a wave, like a raised eyebrow. And you think you aren't, sometimes? Your pretense could use a little more work.

I turned back to the real world. Clearly today was gang-up-on-Nariko day."Really?" I asked, keeping my voice and face bright. "So what, do people post about lost cats?" The mental image of Urahara putting up posters for Yoruichi gave my laugh some genuine humor. "That'd be kinda funny, huh?"

Shinju blinked. "No, I don't think so. Notices for important school events, clubs that apparently first-years aren't allowed to join"-she pulled a face that almost took the edge off my annoyance- "and illegal tournaments." Shinju sniffed, standing and smoothing her hakama. "Some people actually sneak off campus to fight for prizes! Can you imagine? They should all get expelled, but some of the teachers turn a blind eye to it since they did it too."

I filed the information away. A club might look appealing come graduation. I stood, not bothering to neaten my kimono. Time to check that board. And while I was at it, find out who else had known about this field trip.

I decided to kill two birds with one stone and head to the library. First, Aizen and Minoru might be there—well, Aizen more likely, but Minoru had begun forays into basic kanji. And second, I needed to do some research.

Research came first. I slid into one of the library's many pairs of indoor slippers and padded over to the desk. Some poor upperclassman was stuck sorting scrolls today. I figured he was better than nothing if I wanted to avoid searching through a million shelves. "Excuse me?"

His head jerked up. My hand shot out to catch the glasses that fell off his nose with the abruptness of the movement. I missed, naturally, but they clattered to the desk's dark wood harmlessly. Great. I'd gotten the absent-minded professor of library workers.

And yet I couldn't help my irritation fading as he set their wire frames back into their proper place. Dude just had this thing about him, like a much taller, blond-brunet version of Hanatarou, that made him instantly endearing. "Ah, sorry about that. How can I help?" His voice had the sound of someone who'd said the same thing far too many times, but I forgave it. The amount of idiots late on projects one got in here, it wouldn't have surprised me if he had said that many times. The bruiselike moons under each eye didn't indicate a particular ability to think clearly at the moment.

I steeled myself against the instinctive 'ahh, an upperclassman!' reaction. Having to crane up at him didn't help, though. "Um, I'm looking for some history on paranormal abilities. Instinctive learning of zankensoki, Kidou without formal training, reiatsu sense. And sensing Zanpakutou." I hoped like hell he hadn't noticed the way I'd slipped that in there. He didn't look like he'd be on the Onmitsukidou track, but you never knew. That might make him the perfect onmitsu. But no, a pulse of my reiatsu brought back the crackle of a fire-type Zanpakutou to match the charcoal smears on his fingers. Probably. "And I don't know if there are student records or anything, but I was looking into a-an old friend I'd lost touch with after he came here." For a given value of friend, it was true. Oshiro and I had known each other. I'd liked him for a while.

Are you sure you want to do this? murmured brooks and distant thunder. He-

This ends here, I replied. If mental voices could be grim, mine was. You're the only good thing I got out of that. The rest of his influence can go to hell.

I focused on the intern—he had the look of an intern, even if that wasn't really the same here—again. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I, ah- the second one. The second one first. We have some, for famous students or teachers as long as they're still teaching here. It's supposed to be, I don't know, an example or something? An example for students. Yes, that's it. I know where that is. The first one, hmm. I'd check the section on techniques or maybe history."

We stared at each other for a few minutes before he processed that I wanted to know where.

The intern blinked worryingly black-ringed eyes. Yeah, someone had better get the guy a day off before he collapsed. Maybe sleep deprivation would prepare him for the Fourth if he went there. "Three rows back against the left wall. Anything there might be, uh, pretty disorganized. There was a project rush before break."

"Thanks," I murmured, turning in my heel to find my intended prey. Maybe it was the lingering echoes of Zanpakutou as my system finally settled, but I could've sworn I heard him mumble, "Are you the one with the cute cousin?"

Ignoring Hiyori's potential love interest—and I really didn't want to think about that— I closed in on the shelf in question with a sinking heart. Oshiro's file had probably been moved. On the other hand, it was pretty chaotic, less a shelf than a pile of scrolls threatening to spill off their designated platforms.

There! A scroll with the kanji for castle stamped on its cap. I snatched it up, popping off the cap and unfurling the damn thing. Let the truth be known.

A quick skim—alright, it was a read-through, but I read quickly—turned up almost nothing. It was your typical polished crap, all praise and barely any meat. Made me wonder if that was why Oshiro'd gotten as far as he had. If no one had bothered to really look closely at the guy, he could've been as suspicious as he wanted.

Hang on. '...achieved numerous distinctions in Zanjutsu despite social setbacks in his initial years and struggles in Kidou.' That's something. I scanned the text again. There it was again, a couple more references to some kind of social troubles and 'proving that a truly valiant Shinigami must be judged on his skills and not the judgment of his peers.'

I sucked in a breath, released it with a shudder. Processing wasn't done, but I had something.

Looking around in the section on Shinigami abilities—okay, almost entirely the zankensoki—yielded almost nothing. There was a small scroll that seemed to be on the science of spiritual senses, insofar as science existed here. I snatched that and went looking around the history section. Which... ugh. Well-organized, at least, but Soul Society really liked its history. Every imaginable historical topic in easily a dozen language, organized by eras with names that sounded like B-list magical girl attacks. 'Northern Dawn Bloom Peace,' anyone? I scooped up a bundle of scrolls marked 'Warring States' and headed to my library alcove.

As weird as it was, I smelled Aizen before I saw him. The room I usually made my den in smelled old and stale, while Aizen... didn't. He had a certain scent about him, an odd mix of teenage boy musk and deep-woods pine. He valiantly tried to mask it with the gold osmanthus-scented soap from the bathhouses around campus, but I knew him by that unique perfume anyway.

I shuffled my feet as I approached, mentally snickering. 'Don't tap on the glass, may startle Aizens.' I saw his deliberate nonreaction before I spoke, wondering even as I chirped his name why he hadn't said anything first.

Shy kid, I reminded myself as I fought to keep from dropping my armful of scrolls. Probably overrides the 'appease the noble' instinct when there's no one else around.

Aizen glanced up, adjusting his glasses as they tried to make a run for it. "Nariko-san? I didn't hear you come in. You're done unpacking?"

Bull, I thought, blocking the word's escape with a wall of teeth. You actually acted like a normal human being instead of a wild animal and I know even you can't change that fast. "Sure am. I try to pack light," I added when the silence hung between us for a few seconds. Nervous much? snarked a voice in the back of my head. I shushed it and continued. "Can I sit with you? These things are going to fall any second." I twitched my chin at the scrolls. Any more motion would've started an avalanche.

He nodded, simultaneously scooching over and sweeping his own material aside to make space for mine. "It's your usual table anyway," he murmured as I dumped today's reading material in front of us. "What're these for?"

Sheesh, this conversation felt like I was constantly playing catch-up, answering one question only to get hit with another. "Sweet," I drawled, fixing him with my best 'aww, I could kiss you but not really' smile. Yes, there was a smile for that. "I'm touched, really." I nodded at the scrolls, resolving to follow this charade of a conversation. "These? I'm doing some light reading."

"Fine, don't tell me," someone else grumbled through Aizen's mouth. Word-perfect, not a hint of hesitation, but the tone marked them as someone else's words. A novel's, maybe. My head was starting to ache from how much analysis I was going to have to do.

But since the pleasant Nariko I needed to curry favor with Aizen wouldn't have complained, I relented. "Oh, fine. I'm taking a look at Oshiro-sensei, the real one. I just- I have to know why. The rest of them are just my own interest. Shinigami weren't always like this, right? I want to know what they were like. Or what Seireitei says they were like, at any rate."

A ghost of a smile touched Aizen's lips. "Courting danger, Nariko-san?"

I brushed a lock of damnably long hair back over my shoulder. Had to get it cut as soon as I had salary enough to not rely on the clan stipend, which was strictly not for haircuts above a certain length. My clan liked its members with long hair. "No more than they're making me on this field trip," I answered. "Did you know about that?"

From the way Aizen went as white as a Hollow's mask, he hadn't. "F-field trip?" he stammered, fingers starting up a rhythm against the table's surface. I fought the urge to rap his knuckles with a scroll. "Th-they're making us do f-field work? With r-real targets?"

I shrugged, keeping a careful watch on his darting eyes and listening just as carefully to the rapid wheeze of his breathing. "I don't know, Aizen-san." Personalize it. Remind him of who he's masquerading as right now. Anchor him. "Junko-chan's brother told her about it." I dropped my voice into the low, hushed tone of someone asking about the topics you didn't usually ask about. "Are you okay? Anything I can do, honest."

Can we rule out illnesses from Before? Arashi asked, voice barely a whisper at the edge of my mental hearing. Not powerless, just efficient, keeping out of the way.

A pause filled by shuddering breaths that sounded half-blocked by something slimy. "I think so," Aizen answered with convenient timing. I thought an impression of 'yeah, what he said' to Arashi. Slowly his breathing began to even out. When it sounded like each inhale didn't hurt and his eyes lingered in a spot for more than a second, I let the reiryoku that had built up in my hands fade. Like I could do healing Kidou anyway.

Probably, I answered as my mouth said something soothing. Not like I know enough to make diagnoses, but I wouldn't peg him as schizophrenic, shitty eye contact notwithstanding. Anxiety is a maybe. Panic attacks?

Short and coherent for panic attacks, Arashi murmured. I could feel her sifting through faded memories, pops of mental static going in and out and finally stopping. You're right, you don't know enough. More watching and waiting, daoshi!

You don't have to sound so gleeful, I grumbled. It's not like you're the one who has to actually pay attention.

"So what're you looking into?" I asked, breaking the ice of awkwardness. "History?"

Aizen shook his head after a moment in a much more Aizen fashion. "Hollows, mostly. Famous ones, famous battles. Some light reading of my own."

"Might as well," I mumbled, bending over a history scroll. "Never know what you'll find."

An hour late, I had found little more than speculation, interesting though it was. There was occasionally reference to psychics, 'farseers,' shamans, all that crap. Mostly they turned up in stories of old battles with descriptions of battle auras and valiant spirits that seemed to stand in for willpower. Ambiguous enough that one wouldn't even think that the references were anything but poetic. Maybe I was reading into things and they were. In a few cases, there were intrigues in which a spy disguised himself as a clan member and another person—always the heir—sniffed him out. More often, a person in the perfect position to inherit if the main branch was discredited discovered corruption by 'hearing their inner self.' Telling words.

The most interesting were the tales of wars being fought over someone with those powers. In this scroll, a clan leader fought to reclaim his daughter, a girl who 'through cleverness and divine favor discerned the thoughts of friend and foe.' Of course, she ended up brainwashed, spilling everyone's secrets before going insane and trying to kill him. Whole clan ended up dead when Daddy Dearest couldn't bear to kill his little girl. In another- yep, a kid saw a girl's beautiful soul and fell in love with her. Turned out she was from another clan and he decided to kill his own to be with her. Surprise, she didn't love him back and he died.

Most read like stories. Great ways to push ideas on impressionable kids, right? Tell 'em a story and watch the themes repeat.

I sat back, rolling my shoulders and hearing my back pop. Clearly I needed to start working towards a better posture. Terrific. "End up with supposedly impossible powers that are actually extensions of a natural ability and are thus beyond your control? You're either going to go crazy or betray your clan. Or both and you die no matter what."

No. That wasn't quite right. If you kept the order of things or if you were already favored by it—noble and orthodox, basically—you could get away with it. I couldn't help noticing that most of the positively-portrayed psychics, for lack of a better word, were either tied to the Wakahisa or Kuchiki. I supposed that both made sense, the ruling houses being judges and soldiers respectively. The Shihouin wouldn't share that information if they had it, while the Shiba probably didn't care as long as it didn't wreck their harmony. Who the heck even knew what went on with the Takamiya. All Asami had been able to teach me about their origin was that they'd founded the Kidou Corps and tried to use them to make a power grab. That'd gone over pretty badly and ended up with the Takamiya losing their taste for political activity, so mostly they just managed passive holdings and everything Kidou. Tech, actual Kidou, the Kidou Corps, that sort of stuff. Brought their weight to bear occasionally, but it was a sleeping giant thing.

Point was that the Takamiya might be involved, but there was no practical way to find out. I discarded them. That wasn't important. None of this was. Knowing the history was what mattered. Knowing that Unohana was right, that I had the potential to be dangerous not because of who I was but because of what people associated with me, that was what mattered.

Oshiro I had nothing but guesswork on. I excused myself from Aizen's and my impromptu research session, finding places for some of my scrolls as I left. I knew everything I needed to know.

What I didn't know, it turned out, was where exactly the jinzen rooms I'd registered my Zanpakutou at were. Eventually I found my way over, to the relief of tingling fingers.

"Man, it's cold," I said, because that was what one said when they entered a building in winter and found strangers there. The man at the desk spared me a glance before nodding at the sign-in sheet and returning to his reading. A stealthy glance over at the scroll half-unrolled in front of him made it pretty clear that Desk Man didn't have much in the way of relationships, but that wasn't my business. I left him to that and headed for a room, hoping Arashi's waters would scrub away what I'd seen.

"I don't know how much help I'll be, daoshi," Arashi murmured, face obscured, strangely, by a paper fan. Where she even got that I didn't know, let alone how she could kneel with bird legs. "I was unleashed in our conflict with the blood-metal man. We owe him, in a sense, for that."

We knelt beneath a pavilion, looking out at the Zen garden that dominated the temple landscape. My eyes slid away from the white sand to the cloudscape beyond the mountaintop. "We don't owe him anything. I would've learned your name eventually," I countered, attention split between talking to her and continuing to breathe deeply.

"Not any time soon, daoshi," Arashi said, giving me the side-eye. "You're too reactive, as the crimson man says. You don't take action enough."

I huffed. "Well, what am I supposed to take action against? You want me to murder Aizen before he gets a chance to be a supervillain? Find the Quincy shadow realm? Make the Hougyoku all by my lonesome? Might as well just start killing everyone! Who knows what they might do?"

"Don't twist my words," Arashi scolded. "You know I wasn't suggesting that. You know just as well as I do that you would've kept meditating and meditating and never done anything that would've made me want to give you my power."

I hunched my shoulders as if they'd hide my burning face. "So you're saying that the fact that I panicked when he was about to kill me makes me a hero? I'm not a hero, Arashi. I just didn't want to die with nothing done. If that got me Shikai, why the heck wouldn't some dedicated meditation have done it? Devotion right there."

"I'm not bonded to some hotblooded young man who needs to learn patience, daoshi," Arashi said, adjusting her sakkat. "You wouldn't grow from making a routine of something you wanted anyway. Fighting back and resisting evil for a noble goal, that is why I gave you my power then. You didn't shy away from-"

"-from murdering someone?" I interrupted, shoving an unruly lock of hair away from my face. The more I said it, the easier it became to hear those damning words.

"From protecting yourself! From protecting anyone else the blood-metal man might have hurt! From avenging his previous victims!" Arashi's head snapped around, silver fabric fanning out like a halo around her. Her smooth rice-powder mask was creased by a scowl. "What was your intent, daoshi? Not to kill senselessly! You knew he wasn't going to back down. You knew he had killed without remorse! If you could've found another way to stop him, would you have taken it?"

"Of course!" I blurted. Why was that even a question? She knew I would've done anything to escape without killing him.

"Then why are you beating yourself up for it? The approval of Soul Society doesn't mean you should hate it!" Arashi said. Rain was beginning to patter on the pavilion's roof. "If a Hollow says it's from Hueco Mundo, it isn't wrong, no matter how monstrous it is. And you aren't wrong for defending yourself against that man just because Soul Society applauds your action. You hurt no one else by killing the blood-metal man, you saved yourself, you feel remorse for it. Stop trying to find an excuse to shirk your duties."

The wind whistled past, torture on already-chapped lips that couldn't offer any counterargument. Not one that didn't make me feel like a dirty coward, anyway.

"I'm scared," I managed after a few minutes. The rain had slowed to mist. "I don't want- it's hard. I don't know if I can keep killing like this and I have to, don't I? It's supposed to be wrong to kill, but I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, are we?"

Arashi chuckled. "No, I suppose not. But there you have it. The difference between you and a murderer isn't what you've done, daoshi. It's your intent. You just have to- live with it. Yes, that's it."

A stupid, impulsive idea entered my head. "Can I go do something silly?" I asked, disentangling myself from seiza and standing.

"It's your world too, daoshi," Arashi pointed out, face half-hidden by an overlong sleeve. I hoped she hid an amused smile rather than a smirk. "Do what you want."

I kept her words in my head as I headed for the edge of the mountaintop. I wasn't going to chicken out now. Oshiro was done intruding on my life and if he was still out there somewhere, I had to let him know it.

"You're done here!" I shouted, turning my face to fully face the wind so it could chase away how ridiculous I felt. "Get out! I won't let you make me feel guilty for living! You gave me no choice and I will not feel guilty for defending myself, Oshiro! Or whoever you really were!"

It was the stupidest thing in the world to cry about. I never cried when I was happy. But maybe the feeling crashing over me, chasing shame from my veins with each heartbeat, wasn't happy. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, the water the wind carried away into the sky wasn't from the koi pond.

The crack of thunder and deluge of summer-warm rainwater a second later might've had something to do with it. But probably not.

Silk rustled behind me. I turned to see Arashi there, close enough that her heavy layers were all that prevented her from feeling my breath. I had just enough presence of mind not to back up as arms padded with silk and feathers folded awkwardly around my shoulders.

"That's the wielder I gave my name to," she murmured, clipped voice softening. "People are going to hear your voice, daoshi. Not just some washed-up spirit and me. Keep shouting, my chimera."

"Not right now, I hope," I mumbled into her inexplicably mammalian chest. "I'm the harmless bookworm right now, remember."

She released a huff of air that wasn't quite a laugh. "Yes, of course. Now, how about some training while you're here? Your footwork on unstable terrain could use work."

"Oh, fine."

The assembly for the first-years' field trip was right after dinner, giving me barely enough time to quiz Nanase about it. He swore forwards and backwards and in every possible direction, despite Shinji's passionate insistence that he must've known, that he'd honestly forgotten about the whole ordeal.

"I blocked it out!" Nanase had claimed, waving his hands frantically at us. Which gave me exactly no hope for this little excursion, but it was no use making up my mind before I'd even found out what it'd be about. Apparently the current second-years had served internships in Seireitei itself, which had been bad enough that the class had actually lost a few students. Nanase's group had been stationed in the Living World, which didn't sound so bad until one considered that war had absolutely been a thing then.

Joy.

So we all, minus Nanase, dutifully piled into one of Shin'ou's many lecture halls. By some miracle Aizen found five seats together towards the back. Shinji didn't have a reason to gripe about having to look like he was paying attention, giving us a nice bit of time to chat about the weather and other pointless stuff.

The dull roar of everyone else's talking subsided. Time to listen.

"First-years!" Ounabara boomed. "Those of you with family members who are graduates of this fine institute may already have inklings of what I'm about to say. Those few who have learned to pay attention to notice boards" -Shinju stuck out her tongue at me- "may also be aware. You'll be getting some practical experience this semester." He actually had to raise a hand to quiet everyone again. I supposed it was pretty big news for a bunch of kids itching for a chance to prove themselves as something better than the fresh meat of Shin'ou.

"This year's trial is a post with security patrols in the Rukongai. Your time at this institution has started you on the path to being the pinnacle of martial prowess. The districts we assign you to will be appropriately difficult," Ounabara continued. "If you do not return, the chaff has been separated from the wheat."

Well, damn. Ounabara hadn't even paused in saying that. Either he believed it unflinchingly or he'd said it to several previous classes. Both were chilling prospects.

"Putting down insurrection is a valuable skill for Shinigami to possess. Some districts may include former Quincy. Others, yakuza. Some will certainly hold the seeds of rebellion. Much gossip has reached me" -he swept a disapproving glance over the class, as if to say that he'd put down those rumors- "concerning the atypical events of this year. If you thought the rest of you would escape unblooded, think again. Even if your blade doesn't send a soul on, you will be given reason to remember proper sword-cleaning technique."

It was easier, having talked with Arashi, to not look around at my classmates for the inevitable stares. Nearly as easy to keep breathing without feeling an iron grip on my lungs.

"You'll be sent in groups. Assignments will be given based on social groups according to your teachers' observations. Overly large circles will be broken up, but it's our priority to make sure you'll be invested in protecting your comrades. The Shinigami you will be working with will train you to value the mission above lesser matters, but a foundation of trust may be what gets you through your first true test," Ounabara intoned. I'd never really had occasion to think of anyone as intoning anything, but Ounabara really did. I supposed decades of making speeches to teenagers about to see battle gave him practice.

I joined my classmates in a collective jump as Ounabara clapped his hands. No way he didn't have some kind of Kidou that amplified sound here. On second thought, no. That would've been too trivial for someone with as serious a face as his.

"Students in the left column of seats may see Honshou-sensei, Lau-sensei, and Kotetsu-sensei for assignments. Students in the middle, see Nguyen-sensei, Ise-sensei, and Kurosawa-sensei. Students in the right, see Aikawa-sensei, Kim-sensei, and Maeng-sensei."

With that, Ounabara left us to navigating our way through the mob of students clamoring to know what they'd be spending the rest of the school year doing. Aizen had found seats on the right, which proved pretty lucky. I wasn't super keen on approaching a teacher I didn't know.

As luck would have it, traffic nudged me towards Love anyway.

He glanced up from juggling his over-long scroll. "And you are- right, Hirako. Did you know you've got a cousin? Comes up to about my elbow, tried to kick me in the shins when I said she'd be going with you? Anyway, you're off to West 64th, Kinsawa. Better than it sounds, honest. Next!"

I let the crowd push me out the door. A quick scan of the crowd revealed no familiar heads, though Minoru wasn't terribly distinctive from behind and he was too short to be spotted easily anyway. Oh well. Shivering in the thawing air wasn't that bad.

"Where are you going? You're with me, right?"

Holy balls. I spun around to find Shinju bouncing on her tiptoes behind me. How the- ah, another exit. Finally, something with a clear answer.

"If you're going to Kinsawa, yes!" I beamed at her, matching her bouncing as much as I could. Bless the lean Hirako frame for not... bouncing... as much. "Are you? Maybe we'll bunk together!"

Well, that seemed to be working pretty well, even if my temples were aching. How did Shinju do this saccharine routine all day? Didn't she get sick of it? "Yes! I thought we might, you know, because of what they said, you know? Do you think your brother will be sent there too?"

Shinji and Shinju. Eww. "I'm sure he'll find a way to be even if he isn't," I replied, glancing around for Minoru and Aizen. Well, that hadn't come out filtered, but it didn't matter when Minoru melted out of the crowd, Aizen trailing behind.

"Y-y'all got Kinsawa?" Minoru stammered. Damn, I hadn't heard his accent that strong in a while. "Only that's Aizen's an' my assignment."

"Sure thing," Shinji drawled from right behind me, because of course he did. "Safe ta assume that'll be Junko-chan and Narin's stompin' grounds too, yeah?"

"Yep!" Shinju chirped as I drove my elbow into Shinji's side. I had to keep enough bizarre people straight as it was. Shinji did not get to get away with mixing me up about myself too. I ignored his wheezing attempts to cuss me out. "Oh, that's so great! We're all together, you know? Maybe some of the rest of us will get to show off, huh, Hirako-chan?"

The heat in my face could've come from the instinctive embarrassment that brought a mumbling reply from me. Or it could've come from my growing irritation with her. Okay, so I'd had an inordinate number of mishaps here. So I definitely did like people recognizing it when I did something cool. Not my fault.

I tossed a look Shinji's way and laughed for everyone else. "Yeah, maybe. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Shinji rolled his eyes. "Now ya gone an' jinxed it fer us, Nariko. This better not end with us havin' ta explain ta Nanase-kun why he got one less friend."

Minoru's polite-worried expression creased into a scowl. "That ain't funny, Shinji-san," he snapped. "We can't afford ta joke around like that with the kind of thugs they got runnin' around there." His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing as if the mud permeating the thawing campus had splattered there.

Shinji shrugged, stuffing his hands into his sleeves as the crowd dispersed enough to let us head for our rooms. "Suit yerself. I think I'm pretty funny."

"You would, wouldn't you?" I teased as we set off. "Let's see how the real Shinigami like your jokes."