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Ounabara grunted. "Then I'll advise you to learn city manners. The title of Shinigami falls to any who know their duty, not just men."

"And you'll get beaten to a bloody paste if you piss off a female superior," Ishimori added. "Or a Shihouin. Or Captain Shibounmei and Lieutenant Hikifune. Or Commander-in-Chief Shizuya-sama, but it's better not to get on a Shihouin empress's bad side anyway. And especially Captain Unohana."

Everyone in the room shuddered. That... yeah. I could've cited a lot of reasons why Shinigami were pretty egalitarian—anyone could die for Soul Society, the influence of the Shihouin, etc., etc.—but it really boiled down to institutionalized fear of Unohana.

"Hirako. Continue. No further interruptions," Ounabara ordered after a moment.

"Yamada-senpai slapped me, then kneed me in the face." I paused. Should I tell them about the voice I'd heard? On the one hand, if Yamada had had other conspirators, then they deserved to get punished. On the other hand, I hadn't actually seen anyone and the Maggots' Nest didn't seem like a good place to wind up in before I'd even made it out of Shin'ou. I elected to stay quiet about that. "I fought back and-" I stopped again. Who had I hit where? "I think I got Yamada-senpai in the solar plexus and in the head—second time by accident, though. Issh- Shiba-sama grabbed me so I wouldn't run away and I stepped on his toes really hard so he'd let go when he changed grip. I think he wanted to sell my brush case." My fingers drifted up to brush said object, lingering on its painted surface. Granddad had had it decorated with the legend of Madame White Snake. Whether he'd been encouraging me to take after Madame White Snake or had just liked the picture I wasn't sure, but I hadn't let it out of my sight since receiving it.

"And why would a Shiba have any need to profit from taking your brushes?" Ounabara asked. It was a fair question, given that the Shiba clan hadn't lost their prestige yet.

"He said he had a few debts that he didn't want his Clan Head to know about," I answered.

Nanase shifted position. "He owed Yamada-san money," he said. "A lot if people owe him something or other. Bets on exam results, blackmail, tutoring, that sort of thing. "

"Sounds like when I was at school," Ishimori mused, "only it was always Liu Yun doing that."

Ounabara ignored her. "I gave the instruction for no further interruptions," he said.

I took that as my cue to continue. "I snapped my head back into Nanase's nose." I bit back the apology on my lips. I was not sorry, dammit! I did what I had to do! "And elbowed him in the stomach for good measure. Then I ran away." I flinched as Ishimori and Ounabara gave me disapproving stares. I frowned back. What was I supposed to do, let myself get beaten into a pulp? "And," I said before Nanase could interrupt again, "I tackled him right before we reached Ishimori-sensei's class."

Ounabara hmphed. "Now why would you do that, Hirako?" He put slight emphasis on 'you,' like he would've believed anyone but Hirako Nariko to be capable of tackling someone.

I barely restrained myself from hmmphing back. As it was, I took a second to think. Not about why, but how to phrase it. "Because I was really, really angry, sir," I said at last, giving up on acting like I'd taken the higher ground. "I don't like getting hurt. And my case was a gift from my grandfather."

Ounabara grunted, clasping his hands. "Your continued training with Himura will serve you well, then." For a second, Nanase looked simultaneously stunned and overjoyed, like he thought Ounabara had inexplicably decided in favor of his gang. "As for you, Nanase. Am I to understand that you joined Yamada Seinosuke in attacking a first-year noble girl?"

Nanase's face crumpled as he went paler than the rice paper screens around us. "Y-yessir."

"And Hirako, what part did he have in the attack?" Ounabara turned his ink-dark eyes on me.

I swallowed. With the anger fading, I didn't know whether I really wanted to condemn Nanase. He was kinda... pitiful. His heart wasn't even in roughing me up and I suspected that I didn't want to know what Seinosuke had rescued him from. But he'd made his choice. Feeling as though you owed someone was no excuse to do something you weren't okay with. Maybe this incident would get that through his head. "He threatened me, kept me from screaming for help, and chased me to prevent me from escaping," I said carefully.

Ounabara huffed again. I was starting to get really sick of the whole 'take a beating or you're weak' mentality around here. I mean, given the Eleventh's mentality it wasn't too surprising, but still. It came as no surprise when he said, "Nanase, meal duty for the next month. Ishimori-sensei, notify the rest of the Zanjutsu staff that if any shinai require maintenance that they should ask Nanase Hibiki for assistance and expect to receive it."

"Sir," Ishimori said dutifully, backing out of the office to carry out the order.

I couldn't help the question that slipped from my lips. "What about Yamada-senpai and Shiba-sama?" I had to force Isshin's honorific. He didn't deserve it with his conduct.

"Shiba-sama will be spoken to," Ounabara said after a moment. I bit my lip. Nothing in his tone said any action would be taken. Damn his rank. Well, he'd straightened out without me around, so that was slightly reassuring. "Yamada will receive caning and have his Zanpakutou broken."

My jaw dropped. "Sir! You- please don't do that to him!"

He glared down at me. "And what makes you think you have any sway over the administration? I fear no Hirako. And I see no reason why his conduct should not be punished as such. He isn't yet a Shinigami. The rules of conduct do not apply to his blade. Rather, he'll learn new respect for it and the duty it represents. The healing will remind him of how a Shinigami should act."

I gritted my teeth. Regardless of how he'd acted, I couldn't let Seinosuke's Zanpakutou be broken. Maybe Seinosuke deserved it, but his Zanpakutou spirit didn't and neither of them deserved to be cut off from each other, even temporarily. And his reiatsu... maybe it was just my imagination, but he felt like the kudzu that had always choked gardens back home, a stranglehold on anywhere that could support him, simply looking to climb higher than his classmates. Seinosuke was desperate and nasty, but he was also insecure and subject to at least a little ridicule from his peers because of me. "Sir? He acted against me." I put on my best fancy noble attitude. "Therefore, with all due respect, I think I deserve to have a say in his punishment. Caning, yes. But he shouldn't be cut off from his sword's spirit." I fingered my asauchi's hilt. "It hurts Zanpakutou and Shinigami to be broken. Yamada-senpai... I don't think he deserves the punishment a Shinigami would get from a court martial. Let him apologize to me. After that, I could say whether he deserves further punishment."

Ounabara sneered. "The pain is precisely why he deserves to have his Zanpakutou broken, Hirako." He paused, stony expression shifting to something more unreadable. "But you have a point. He does not deserve treatment as a full Shinigami. That is far too dignified. In that vein, I will permit your impudence this once. He may apologize to you. Then you will recount the incident to me and I will decide his punishment. Nanase, Hirako, you're dismissed."

"Sir," we said in unison, like the debatably good little students we were, and backed out of the room.

The gong for the next period sounded as we made our way out of the building. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was in relation to everything. The problem with knowing where I was going based on turns was that I didn't have any clue how to get anywhere from a different starting point.

"Sorry."

I whipped around to find Nanase staring at the ground. "Huh?" I asked.

He flushed. "I- Beating you up wasn't my idea. But I still figured- Sorry, okay?" Nanase's eyes flicked up to me, pleading as the eyes of the red, curly-tailed puppies that'd been born shortly before Shinji and I left for Shin'ou. Shame I didn't really like dogs.

He's trying to cover his own skin in case you try to get revenge. You know you could, 'Nariko-daoshi,' the cynical part of me snapped, and oh, I wanted to listen to it. Embers of anger still smoldered in my chest, ready to be fanned back into fire.

He is brave enough to apologize, though, the idealistic part replied, and I wanted to listen to it too. I liked to think I was at least a little nice.

Just take him at face value, a third mental voice advised. He'll like you better if you seem approachable and forgiving. Could help in the future. And really, can you bring yourself to be cruel to a boy as pathetic as this?

When had I gotten so many voices in my head? Still, the third voice was right. Nanase's reiatsu rubbed on mine, a stray cat begging for scraps, and I couldn't bring myself to be needlessly snobby. Turn the other cheek, another voice whispered, but it was a memory, not a thought.

I smiled at him, the last vestiges of anger draining away. "Hey, I lived, and I've still got this." I patted my brush case. Internally, I frowned. 'Approachable and forgiving' weren't synonymous with 'vaguely passive and ineffectual,' which my words sounded like even to me. "Nanase-san? Piece of advice—find better friends. Or I can't guarantee that we won't be on opposite sides again." I let my cheery tone and smile fade.

The pleading-dog look dropped away. "Ah, that's a tall order," he muttered, words stretching just a hair into a long-buried Northern dialect. "Gangs are just about set in stone past first year, an'- and I'm third. Kinda lacking in the noble parents' friends' kids department, not like you." A bitter half-smile touched his lips.

I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. He had a point about cliques settling very quickly in first year—Soul Society ran on organizing everything and everyone into groups, whether clans or districts, so it only made sense that students would sort themselves into groups too. It was an extraordinarily helpful system for dealing with the celestial bureaucracy, allowing for networks of favors and alliances to get paperwork expedited, even cross-division. Unfortunately, as with Nanase, it tended to screw over anyone who wasn't aware of its existence in the first place, mostly the Rukongai-born

He did not, however, have much of an excuse when it came to noble parents. My social circle was composed of my brother, our roommates, and the kid I was tutoring in Japanese. I supposed one could stretch it by saying I only knew Shinji because of my parents, but seeing as they were the same... not really.

"Then come hang out with mine." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, but the second the sentence finished I wanted to stuff them back in. Minoru was one thing, being someone I actually liked, but not only did I barely know Nanase, I didn't much like him. Oh well, I consoled myself. Maybe he'll say no.

Nanase's eyes went wide, then narrowed again as he reassumed the defensive facade that seemed to serve him as a shield against his classmates. "Sure! If it's not too much trouble, that is," he added almost as an afterthought.

Dammit. What'd I been thinking, making an offer like that to a kid who I'd seen from the beginning wanted to fit in? Well, at least he'd be graduating in four years. My manners took over for my reluctant mind. "We usually eat in the Suishou dining hall," I heard my voice say. "It's near the south side of campus."

Nanase's eyes flicked over in that direction. He nodded. "Then I'll see you there!" He bounded off to his next class, heedless of his broken nose.

I recovered control of my body, nodding belatedly. What was done was done. He couldn't possibly be that bad, anyway, and with Aizen, Minoru, and Shinju on occasion, there were too many shrinking violets in my group anyway.

I very carefully didn't tell Shinji I'd been in another fight when we next saw each other. He could laugh off an isolated incident, a fight I'd won, but Shinji would destroy Seinosuke, Nanase, and Isshin if I told him, rules and teachers be damned. A Hirako he might be, but Shinji was just as much a teenage boy, with all the hormones and aggression that involved. No wonder the other clans thought of Shihouin-serving clans as loose cannons. Smoke and mirrors, up until you pissed us off, then a hurricane touched down and when the dust cleared a broken body was all to show for it.

Yeah, people generally decided it was in their best interests to at least fake nice with us. Keeping that in mind, I decided it was in Nanase's best interest that I didn't tell Shinji that he'd been stupid enough not to play nice.

"Heard hide nor hair of your Zanpakutou spirit, Nari-nee?" Shinji drawled, plucking at grass intent on worming its way between the paving stones. "I woulda thought it'd warm right up t'a sword nerd like you."

I stuck my tongue out at him. We sat in the Mizuchi courtyard, which had replaced our usual classroom as we began to focus more and more on hajimezen and less and less on the theory of a Zanapakutou. It wasn't like they'd taught us much beyond the basics, but still. I liked wrangling theory. "Oh, shut up. It doesn't work like that, idiot."

Shinji raised an eyebrow. "More brilliant insights, sister-mine? Do tell." A casual observer wouldn't have noticed the genuine curiosity in Shinji's voice; as it was I barely noticed that he wasn't asking out of boredom. Someone's impatient, I thought, hiding a smile. Teachers bugging you about your potential yet, Shinji?

I shrugged. "Specifics?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "Well, if Zanpakutou spirits don't work like that, how do they work?"

To that I had to shrug. Canon Bleach provided me with no information on that subject, nor did the library. And for all their talk about Zanpakutou, scholars tended to focus more on the end result rather than their formation. "Magic?" I joked, laughing at the bad joke. "No, but seriously, Shin, I'm not completely sure. I just know that they don't come with spirits that 'warm up' to their wielder." I bumped him with my shoulder, nearly knocked over by his retaliatory bump. "I guess that's why we begin with hajimezen, no pun intended. Can't meet a spirit before you've made it."

Shinji cocked his head. "Eh? Now you're just teasin'. We're in our first years and makin' sword spirits? Yeah, right. Nobody's even takin' it seriously. Nobody but my idiot sister, anyway."

I ripped up a tuft of grass and tossed it at him. Grass being grass, though, it made it about an inch before drifting to the ground. We stared at it for a second before bursting out laughing.

"Ha! Ya couldn't even manage somethin' simple as that? Bet ya can't even whistle!" Shinji gasped.

I glared at him, rubbing my aching sides. "Hey! It's not my fault I paid attention to my lessons, instead of skipping them to learn how to whistle!"

"It's completely yer fault!" Shinji said, still chuckling. "Now stop laughin' an' answer my question!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Pot, kettle. Anyway, I already did. The spirits form from getting our reiryoku imbued into them. Like when we're putting our hands on them and focusing." I held up one hand, briefly calling aqua light to it. "Takes longer or shorter times depending on the person. But eventually the asauchi learn who we are and form spirits." I leaned in, glancing around to make sure Oshiro wasn't paying attention to us. I wasn't sure he knew where the infirmary was—he'd been out sick a few more times since our discussion in the courtyard. "You know how sensei says we're supposed to be mastering our Zanpakutou? Telling them what we want? He's wrong. It's not some kind of pet and master relationship. Or slave and master; that's probably better 'cause they're sentient. It's a partnership."

Shinji studied me, grin shrinking slightly as he grew serious. "A partnership, when I'm the one holdin' the sword?"

I huffed. "A partnership, 'cause you don't get a sword unless the Zanpakutou agrees."

"It's not proper for you to be questioning teachers like that," Wakahisa Momohiko interrupted. Even if the reeking wintergreen oil that slicked his hair back into an uber-traditional topknot and his reiatsu, intrusive and cool like the stench of mint, hadn't given him away, I would've known him by the drawn-out, sanctimonious way he talked. Rumor had it that more than a few Wakahisa sat behind the screens of the Central 46. A common saying in Soul Society was that eternal life begot eternal life, referring to the meaning of their name, though it meant that a Wakahisa could be trusted to deliver a fair judgment, which in Soul Society meant that the order of life was preserved. Out of the few Wakahisa I knew, Momohiko was the only one who jumped right to judging people, so I supposed the saying was mostly true.

"Screw off, Wakahisa," Shinji said, giving precisely zero fucks about our classmate's rank. No, that wasn't completely true—Shinji clearly gave at least one fuck, since he'd substituted 'screw.' "There's nothin' criminal goin' on over here."

Momohiko sniffed, looking over us as if he expected that we'd be hiding drugs in our shitagi. "Better to avert future crimes and quash insurrection's beginnings."

"Do ya even hear yerself?" Shinji demanded, twisting around to glare up at Momohiko. "Ya sound like somethin' outta some Noh play. We're just talkin' school. Shoo, Wakahisa."

Wakahisa glared back, but Oshiro was beginning to herd us into lines. "You can't get away with defiant thoughts just because of your clan, Hirako. Innocent now, but they'll fester and grow into a radical infection later. See that your sister learns that." He stalked away to take his place at the head of a line.

I shuddered as I took my place. Momohiko had stopped just short of saying the most dangerous word in Soul Society: treason. If this hadn't been an argument between children, the implication of treason from one of the Great Noble Clans would've made my life very unpleasant, if not gotten me disappeared in the night. With that in mind, I followed every one of Oshiro's instructions that day. A good, dutiful, perfectly noble girl, nothing for Wakahisa to remember. I didn't see him leave from class, so I had to hope that he hadn't given me a dirty look before going on his way. Conflict gave me headaches.

"Nariko-san." Shit. My least favorite person in the world at the moment. I turned to face Oshiro, plastering a smile on my face. The honorific change couldn't mean anything good.

"Hi, Oshiro-sensei," I said. "Can I help you?"

"I thought we might have that talk I mentioned," he said, pleasant smile affixed. "Unless you're eager to go to Zanjutsu 1?"

I buried my unease at the fact that he knew which class I had next and shook my head. "Not terribly," I lied. Truth was, I'd rather flee, but I couldn't put off facing Oshiro forever. I should just get it over with.

"Well-" He broke off, coughing. Oshiro fumbled for a second with a pouch tied to his obi before pulling out a paper handkerchief. I would've called it a tissue, but that was an idea I associated with soft things stored in boxes. The square he pulled out was rather stiffer and off-white. Oshiro coughed into it, then stuffed the handkerchief into a separate pouch. For a second I thought I saw a spot of red on the handkerchief, but a second later Oshiro was tying the disposal pouch shut again and it vanished from view. "Nariko-san, let's take a seat. I've felt unwell lately and I'd rather not fall and take you down with me." He sat, patting the stone beside him. I hesitantly lowered myself to the ground, folding my legs beside me.

"So what is it you wanted?" If there was an edge to my voice, I didn't care. Oshiro could say all he wanted about the right way to study, but I knew what I knew. Oshiro could tell me what to do, and I'd do it for a while, but I couldn't make myself ignore the truth forever.

"To begin with, I thought I'd ask about your experience when you received your asauchi. There's a certain way it's supposed to go and I'd like to know if anything that could impede your progress happened. I've noticed a difference between your meditation and those of the other students," Oshiro said.

I shuffled my feet, blushing. It was private, like Nimaiya had said, but there was no good reason not to tell him. "I walked into the tent, then he got mad at me. Um, Ikeda-san did. And-"

"Why?" Oshiro interrupted. The hungry expression from that day had returned.

"Because I knew his name. His real name. He was Nimaiya Ouetsu-sama." It was easy, now that I'd said that, to let the wallflower act go. "And he wanted to know how I knew it, and didn't believe me when I told him how."

Oshiro had gone very pale. "Nariko-san," he said, turning to look at me like he'd never seen me before in his life, "how on earth did you know the name of a Shinigami of- of his rank?"

I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands, folded in my lap. I lifted one surreptitiously, let it fall. My body at least had inherited the Hirako love of irony—my hands shook sometimes even when I was calm, but were completely still when I was stressed. "I...um," I said eloquently, trying to find an explanation. Oshiro being a teacher, he would probably know that the Shin'ou library contained nothing on Nimaiya and I highly doubted that he'd believe that I knew just because of my clan. "He was strong," I said lamely. "Captain-class strong, but not wearing a haori. So he couldn't have been a regular captain. I... you know I like to study. I studied history back home. And..." Shit. I did not, in fact, have the slightest clue about the records of past captains. I didn't even know whether Nimaiya had been a captain, since Yamamoto had founded the Gotei 13 and had a Zanpakutou. "Nimaiya-sama was mentioned in one of my books about early history as the inventor of Zanpakutou, so I guessed it was him. I was right."

"And the God of the Swords noticed you," Oshiro said, apparently stuck on that point. Had it really been necessary to provide an explanation at all? "He noticed you, and said... tell me exactly what he said, as far as you can remember it."

"I already did," I mumbled, chin out mulishly. "He wanted me not to conform. And he didn't want me looking at the asauchi with my reiatsu because he thought they wouldn't take to the right people."

"You're sure he said that," Oshiro said, pupils almost consuming his irises and inky reiatsu moving over mine like octopus tentacles, fluid yet sticky. "Sure that you were examining the blades with your reiatsu, that Nimaiya-dono thought doing so would quicken them?"

I resisted the urge to snark at him and didn't quite succeed. "Uh, yeah. I know what I did and what I heard."

Oshiro didn't seem to notice the exasperation in my voice, staring off into the horizon. "Scores of students through this school, through my classes, and no others who could speak and listen..." He shook his head, a few purple strands drifting to the ground and some of his usual vibrance returning. "Nariko-san! I'm sure you don't talk to your other teachers like that," Oshiro scolded belatedly.

I squeaked. Note to self: You do not have Shinji's talent for getting out of trouble. "Er, sorry, sensei. Did you actually want to talk to me about my study habits?"

He nodded, slipping his hands into his sleeves. "You learn mostly from books, correct?" At my nod, he continued, "Book learning is all well and good, Nariko-san, but it's far different from practical learning. I worry that it's encouraging ideas in you that won't pan out." A wry smile touched Oshiro's lips. "You wouldn't have realized this, but you have the highest grades in my class—even with that sub-par essay on Ryuujin Jakka."

My face burned. "Sorry about that. It was a stupid choice."

Oshiro's smile widened. "At least you realize it. My point, Nariko-san, is that so far I've primarily graded you on theory. The actual matter of your Zanpakutou is a very different thing. And the fact that your brother listens to you... he has a lot of potential." And you'll ruin it, was left unspoken.

I gritted my teeth. "What about his potential? If you're going to say he's stronger than me, I know. Everyone says it." If he was going to dance around what he wanted me to say, I'd have to play the book-smart-but-people-dumb teenager—not a hard act—with a dash of inferiority complex.

Oshiro fell for it, voice softening. "That's true, but it's not what I meant. Nariko-san, you have more influence over your brother than you know. But to put it politely, your ideas are... unorthodox. Zanpakutou spirits are to be subjugated, turned to the will of the Shinigami, or they grow unruly and work against their wielders." His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

Twisting, tearing metal drowned out whatever Oshiro said next. My hands flew up to cover my ears on instinct, but the sound went on and on, screaming past the protection of my hands. I cringed, casting my eyes around for the idiot who'd decided to turn the Academy into a forge. Cut it out! I shrieked in my head.

Then silence. Beautiful, a-thousand-times-blessed silence. Except for Oshiro repeating my name, calloused hand around my wrist.

"-iko-san?" He asked as my hearing came back, releasing me. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded, hands falling back into my lap and pieces falling into place. I swallowed before I spoke, a lump in my throat. Terrific. Auditory hallucinations. Which made the voices from before decidedly not a fluke and me at least a little crazy. "Migraine," I half-lied. A lie because in this life I didn't get migraines, true because a headache had begun to pound in my temples. "Not a bad one."

Oshiro nodded sympathetically. "Then I'll finish up my advice to you and let you go to the infirmary." So he did know where it was, which begged the question of why he didn't stop by. Then again, I'd never seen anyone sick in the infirmary, just injured... "I understand that your clan's policies of child rearing are... permissive, that one of its tenets is independence. And I understand also that one of your clan's chief industries is information. In light of those facts, I decided to allow your independent studies, but the point where I can safely do that is past. You must turn to discipline if you want-"

I'd heard enough. "Why? If I don't do it the way you do and my Zanpakutou turns out wrong, then it's my fault. My blood'll be on my own head. No loss to you. It's my soul," I said, jaw tight.

Oshiro's frown was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "And you're my student!" He exclaimed. "I can't consciously allow you to fall short of your potential! Nariko-san, I understand that you're young. You think you know what's best for yourself and go down that path heedless of tradition, of what generations upon generations of Shinigami have proven to be the better way." He sighed, tension not quite draining from his form. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm banning you from the library. The librarians know your face by now; they can keep you out. Nariko-san, I overheard Wakahisa-sama's words to you earlier. You'd do well to take them to heart. Rebellious thoughts becomes rebellious actions when they're allowed to persist. I... I won't allow the mind of my best student to be shut away because I didn't cut out the roots of anarchy in her heart. We need Shinigami like you, Nariko-san. We need as much strength as we can gather. And if you hone yours as I instruct, you could be a true force for the good of Soul Society." His expression darkened. "Perhaps... perhaps you could come to me for private instruction if you're so eager to advance."

I knew I shouldn't fall for the flattery, for the doing-whats-best-for-you line, but the stubborn anger in me crumbled anyway. I'd judged what was best for Hiyori and Shinji and the rest. Oshiro was just doing the same, even if he really was wrong. But the library... I needed the library. Needed somewhere to get away from the bustle of students, from quiet killing auras around kids younger than Shinji that didn't bother anyone else, from the work I had to do, from my friends when I didn't have the energy to be a good friend to them. "Okay," I said, voice strangled by a tight throat. "I-I'm going to go to Zanjutsu now. Thanks for the advice, sensei."

My Zanjutsu teacher nearly gave me a demerit for missing half the lesson, but a few of my Zanpakutou classmates, including Momohiko, were in my Zanjutsu class and they vouched for Oshiro having called me aside after class. Momohiko, I noted, looked as though he thought I'd taken my sweet time getting to my next class. Jerk.

Zanjutsu went as it usually did. Despite our asauchi, we stuck strictly to bokken and shinai, which left their fair share of welts on me, also as usual. See, when I said my Zanjutsu skills were decent for my year, that was true, but decent was subpar in this class. Nobody was good enough for Zanjutsu 2, but most had gotten some form of sword training before coming here, which was more than I had. Shinji might've been taught some kendo—he'd certainly spent more time being tutored than me—but given our clan's focus on Hakuda I doubted it had been enough to bump him up to Zanjutsu 2.

I licked away sweat as we returned our shinai to the rack along the wall. Kakari-geiko, I felt sure, wasn't meant to build our stamina or encourage our attacking mindset like they claimed. That was just a front so they could tire us out too much to retaliate for the endless drills. It hadn't helped that I'd been paired with Momohiko, who'd seemed hellbent on battering my shinai as hard as humanly possible. I flexed my hands, feeling the soreness of rubbed-raw skin there.

"Your defense isn't worth speaking of, Hirako," Momohiko said, coming up beside me and putting his own shinai away.

"So they keep telling me," I replied, half-turning to face him. "Do you want something?"

"I merely thought that Oshiro-sensei in his meeting with you had echoed my earlier advice to your brother from your demeanor," he said. "Did he visit a proper punishment upon you?"

I deliberately shoved away my fantasy of seizing a bokken and cracking Momohiko's skull, smiling thinly so he didn't get the idea that I was going to take his holier-than-thou attitude, even if my hands were tied by our relative ranks and location. "The punishment he 'visited upon me' is none of your business," I told him, leaving a deliberate pause before I added, "Wakahisa-sama."

He flushed livid pink. Ooh, peach-boy's got a temper, I thought, smile widening. "You- you little-"

"Problem, Wakahisa-sama, Hirako?" The instructor called.

"No, sensei," we said in unison, waiting until he'd wandered away before returning to our verbal spar.

"Leave me alone," I hissed. "You think I disagree with the party line? Sorry, but just 'cause I don't agree with one teacher doesn't mean I don't want to serve the Gotei 13 as much as you." Correlation is not causation, a voice from the past whispered, and I had to hide a smirk. The chance that I wanted to be a Shinigami as much as the rabid Momohiko was about the same as a snowball's in hell, but that was beside the point.

"I believe in no coincidences, Hirako," Momohiko said. "Certainly not that you've taken in a Rukongai urchin and a boy whose origins are not listed even in the records of the school, and a girl beneath another clan besides!"

'Taken in'? Was he nuts? 'Taken in,' like Minoru was my pet? And was he referring to Aizen? Something to look into, I mused as I fought giggles. "You're not one of those, are you, Wakahisa-sama?" I asked, not even having to fake my scorn. "The people who think that clans should stay within their lands? There's a word for them." I leaned in close, sweat tasting for all the world like snake venom, like the way I wanted my words to sound to Momohiko. "Inbred," I stage-whispered. Smiling thinly again, I pulled back. "But I'm sure you're not-"

"Shut up, Hirako," Momohiko snarled. "It is in the self-interest you have so much of to not want me as your enemy."

My eyes widened, my whole face going slack with innocence, so much innocence a newborn lamb would've vomited. "I said I was sure you weren't like that, Wakahisa-sama," I said, a strange feeling filling my chest. Not nervousness, or fear, or anger, but like all of those. It was a little like adrenaline, some bizarre chemical courage that let me say very Shinji-like things while staying me. Or maybe just plain idiocy.

Momohiko's face twisted, making me very happy that I had a lifetime of experience with insults and that my opponent was only a kid. Give him a few years and he'd be able to find every chink in my armor, but for now I had the advantage. "You think your cleverness is unparalleled, when the truth is your cleverness is not enough to let you win a battle when it matters. Everyone knows you won your fight with Yamada by luck and they saw you run from him a second time. A coward and a rebel. Puffed-up speech means nothing to a real combatant."

The feeling in my chest vanished, replaced by a hollow, cold sensation. Knife, meet chink. Kids were staring now. Whispering. The teacher was oblivious, congratulating some exceptional student across the room. My hand closed around my asauchi's hilt. I wanted to be noticed, but not like this. Never like this. I could practically hear the gears turning in my classmates' heads, opinion of me dropping by the second, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

"That hit the mark, did it not?" Momohiko said, voice soft and tone hard, glass shards in honey. "Now consider that that is mercy. You may rethink your life and turn yet to an orderly life. But there is no remedy for fear." He paused, blue-grey eyes expectant. "Well, Hirako? Thank me for the advice."

"Thank you," I mumbled, tongue thick and heavy. You bastard, I added in my head. Himura could take my time, Oshiro my library refuge, but Momohiko alone laid claim to my bravado. I blinked back hot tears—I refused to cry!—and took a deep, shuddering breath. If Momohiko noticed, he gave no sign, turning on his heel and following my classmates out. I registered dully that the gong had rung, feet mechanically leading me out after them.

I could've headed back to my room—the only place I had left to go—but I wasn't in the mood for Shinju's well-meaning fussing today. I wanted Shinji, with all his irritatingly funny quips and seeming inability to be sad, but I had no clue where he was and by the time I found him I'd be back to normal. Prolonged sadness wasn't something I did, whether in this life or Before. And besides, if I went to find Shinji, I'd end up forgetting an idea that had come to me on the way out of the training hall.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I couldn't do anything about that on my own, but I knew who could.

"Himura-sensei?" I said, pausing on the threshold of his training hall.

Himura didn't so much as twitch. He'd probably sensed me coming. "What do you want?" He asked.

I grimaced at having been seen through so easily. "You don't have a class today, right? Except me." I clenched my fists, still sore from Zanjutsu. "Can we move my lesson to now?"

He raised a dark brow. "Depends. Why?"

I shoved down my pride and lifted my chin. "You were right. I'm scared to fight when it matters. I want to be- not scared."

Himura's grin was tight with satisfaction. "The word you want is brave. I can't teach you to be brave. Nobody can, not even you. But I can teach you what to do about fear and how to look a damn lot braver than you do now."

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. "Then I can learn."

Notes:

Opinions on pacing would be appreciated.

About the sword-parts referenced-- look up 'parts of a Japanese sword' if you must. I found several helpful visuals.

And about Nariko sarcastically calling herself 'Nariko-daoshi': If my sources are correct, a 'hime' is a young lady of high birth, though I find it more convenient to translate that as Princess or Lady. Before she can be called a 'hime,' however, said young lady would go through a ceremony, upon which she would be worthy of that title. Before that she would be called 'daoshi.' Please correct me if that's wrong.

It's come to my attention (no, no-one mentioned it, I just thought of it) that the title haiku don't indicate anything about the story. I just like writing them. Plus, our main character is a calligrapher, and calligraphy often involves the writing of poetry.