2/2

My hand flew to my temple. "You think so? Oh no. Should I take it down? Should I sit down before I pass out in the middle of the road? I don't want to make a scene. Is it cause a scene or make a scene? I never know."

The smile wobbled. "I was only trying to add to the light mood of the day. Did I say something wrong?"

I laughed, surprised and liking it for the second time that day. "No, no, not at all. You're so serious all the time, I didn't realize you were joking."

"Should I make it more obvious?" he asked. "Like this?" His face made an expression which... just, no. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to slap it off his face—which I was sure passersby would call self-defense—or start asking him stroke test questions. And he held it, without twitching or indicating he knew how wrong it was, while my inner debate raged.

Finally I choked out, "No, please don't. Deadpan humor is good too."

He nodded, dropping the rictus as quickly as he'd called it up. "Well," he said, "it's nice. Your hair, I mean, for being styled. I think natural is the best look."

I glanced away, cheeks burning. Even with my annoyance at someone telling me how I should look, it made the fancy getup a little easier to bear. And so unexpected from Aizen. That was the real thing making me happy, his communicating an iota of emotion. Progress. "I didn't think anyone would notice," I said, unable to keep my hand from plucking at the wispy hairs that escaped the bun. I smacked it with the other and let both fall. Without having Arashi's hilt to rest them on, I didn't know what to do with my hands.

"You have a flower in it," Aizen noted. We sucked in a breath and scooted through a gap no adult could've passed. Young bodies came with a few perks. "How could anyone not notice?"

I shrugged. "Lots of women wear flower ornaments—hana kanzashi, they're called, and the dangling ones are birabira—especially civilians and girls my age. Eventually I'll have to switch it up between ougi and kogai, since I'll be confirmed as hime and be a Shinigami." I made a face, despite the fact that it'd be one less colorful, symbolic headache to coordinate. "Plus Shinji and I aren't the only Hirako—I've seen a couple distant cousins just on our way here. Flowers, Hirako looks—I don't stick out that much, not to most people."

He tilted his head. "They mean something?"

I nodded, squinting around for the sign Shinju had said was above the ikayaki stand. As beautiful and lush as this district was, the intimate little alleys, cherry trees heavy with blossoms, and the choke of stalls for the festival made it tough to get where you were going even when you were tall enough to see above the crowd. "Kogai are named after the bit on some swords that you can maintain your hair with, so, y'know, Shinigami. Ougi are the formal fan ones with the mon and everything, so that's for clan stuff. I like the flower language, personally."

"Language?" Aizen parroted. He was out of his depth here, but I admired his willingness to keep up. "Ah, I see the sign." He pointed—I would feel so shitty about permaglasses having better eyes than me if I didn't know they were fake—and we continued on.

"They all mean something," I told him, squeezing past a stopped cart. "Like the irises in my hair and on my kimono. They represent good news"-I took a chance and threw in some European flower language; he wouldn't know-"hope and loyalty when a civilian wears them, and when a Shinigami wears them, a warrior's spirit and protection from demons."

Aizen eyed them dubiously. "Are you sure they work?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Thanks a lot! Now you've jinxed me again. My necklace, my kanzashi—are there any other accessories of mine you'd like to curse?"

A soft smile, quickly chased away by a burly festival-goer well into his cups almost toppling into him. "How about the rest of what you're wearing?"

I plucked at the obi. Was this going to be a pattern, walking around feeling like food? It wasn't quite as dark as seaweed, but I was basically Nariko sushi. "Hydrangeas mean pride, but really it's just that this was my most seasonal obi. The streams on my kimono are seasonal... what else? The birds and bees!" Something about that was wrong. When I realized, my entire face turned into a tomato. Stupid Aizen, making me mess up my stupid words. "Forget I said that. I meant butterflies. Birds guide the dead, like we do, or will. The butterflies mean eternity, femininity, and, um, love. Those were Fujikage-san's idea, I swear. Even the blue base is supposed to keep away bugs and snakes." I paused for breath after that ramble. "The flowers on my fan are revenge for not being able to bring my Zanpakutou in—yeah, they mean art, but..." I trailed off, throwing him a participation bone.

"...tessen for tessen," he finished, smile growing fractionally. "I'm surprised. You can communicate so much with a single outfit."

I flapped a hand at him. "Ah, it's nothing really. Fujikage-san put most of it together, and luck's the only reason she had anything good to work with. She's the one you want to talk to if you really want to know more." I sighed. "A real lady would have picked it all out months in advance and have a coherent message to send."

His brow wrinkled. "How about... take hope in a Shinigami who, by pride in her arts, forever protects others from demons."

I chuckled. "Y'know, if anyone asks, this was all planned to convey exactly that. You're a genius, Aizen-san."

"Hardly," he said, and with that we came to the long-awaited ikayaki stand. Shinju's prediction was right on the money: a mob, though thinning, had formed around the beleaguered vendor, any attempts to form an orderly line swiftly shot down by the traffic pouring past it. Her request that we make it before she made her purchase hadn't worked out; she stood to the side of the stall, blissfully chowing down on squid.

"Fujikage-san!" I called, trotting over with Aizen in tow. "Is it what you hoped it'd be?"

She swallowed before answering, because of course she did. "Exactly what I'd dreamed of! Quick, go get some before they're sold out!"

I shook my head. "I'm good; I ate a bunch of okonomiyaki on the way over. Aizen-san, did you want any?"

He sized up the remains of Shinju's squid-on-a-stick. "Just one, please. I'm about full."

My purse strings thank you. "Alright, here." I tossed him the appropriate amount of kan and let him go.

"Talking him for a walk and feeding him?" Shinju said.

"If you're going to make a Rukongai dog joke, don't," I warned.

She frowned slightly. "I wasn't," she said, putting us a step back on the path towards maybe-friendship. "Well, a dog joke, but not because he's from the Rukongai, you know? I was just going to say that it's cute, his following you around like a puppy. You know there's a saying that"-I resisted the urge to interrupt the cliche-"the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That and long walks in the moonlight."

I snapped my fan open, both to cool myself and give my mouth a chance to relax. "Please don't start. I don't like seeing people in distress, that's all." My free hand swiped through the air Arashi should've occupied. "Besides, if you seriously think I'm going to jeopardize my academics for a relationship, no. Just no."

Though her eyebrows remained level, I felt her raise one on a spiritual level. "Too much schoolwork for romance? Sounds familiar... every stubborn heroine ever, perhaps? It never lasts, you know."

Or your brother? Because I'd had a bunch of time to do nothing but think today and yeah, it wasn't hard to read between the lines and figure out Fujikage Kohaku was gay. Or some flavor of aro/ace, but intuition said gay, and I was kinda-sorta psychic. Did they even have a concept of sexual orientation here, or was it more 'keep the bloodlines pure and the clan coffers full and no one cares who shares your bed'?

Okay, that was kind of a mean thought. But it was easier to say than 'we're in a shounen manga, not shoujo,' which I thought pretty handily summed up the trifecta of reasons to not even think about romance: the way academics and the future were way more important to me than anyone else, the mountain of secrets I couldn't share with my dearest people, and my more-than-a-few years of a life in another body and another world that put me at a different place than my peers in terms of maturity and perspective. It just wasn't fair to them.

Shinju smiled and polished off the last of her ikayaki, so I supposed my mouth had come up with something appropriate. At that moment, Aizen returned, his own mouth set in a hard line. There was no ikayaki in his hand.

I frowned. "What's up? Didn't feel like standing in that crowd?"

"It's no trouble," he said. "Such a reputable place has the right to be discerning with its clients."

Oh hell no. "That sounds like the exact opposite of no trouble," I said. My smile was back, distinctly sharper than before. "They kicked you out for being from the Rukongai?"

His eyes dropped. "They expressed doubt that I could pay, and when I showed them the money you lent me, doubt that I had acquired it by legitimate means."

"Money that I gave you," I corrected. "Alright, let's go crack some skulls."

"N-Nariko-san! I don't want any trouble," Aizen said.

The skeleton of a plan was forming in my head. "Then go do whatever you needed to at the tournament. Fujikage-san, you can go with him if you'd like. I'm going to get some ikayaki."

Shinju looked between Aizen and me. Finally she seemed to make up her mind, nodding. "Let's go, Aizen-san. Nariko-san, you owe me ikayaki for making me wait so much today." With that, she tossed her head and flounced off, Aizen in tow.

I slipped into the ikayaki mob, throwing a few Hirako-style elbows now and then—with apologies; I wasn't a monster. To avoid the embarrassment of having to get up there and sort through my money, I fished out my kan beforehand. I was going to cause a scene already. No sense in being rude.

When I finally got up there, I dropped my share on the wooden 'counter' and said, "Two, please." As he turned away, I rested my hand next to the payment, palm up, with the rest of the money. When he turned back with the ikayaki, I made a show of pushing the first payment forward with my other hand and leaving the rest.

"What's the problem? You aren't going to cheat a man out of his hard-earned money, are you, Hirako-sama?" he demanded. Despite the honorific, his face was already starting to redden. To my annoyance he looked pretty average, with nothing to mock. Bigots didn't always show their ugliness on the outside, I supposed. But then there were his hands, calloused and dirty-nailed. Perfect.

I smiled widely, a tiger smile. "Oh, you really want it? Here I thought you were arbitrarily refusing to take honest coin. But it's only when there's an obviously common hand holding it, huh?"

A few voices in the crowd stirred, but not many. This was practically Seireitei, after all. I had to make more of a fuss.

"I'm almost tempted to let you give those to someone else. This is my money, after all, and you didn't want to take it before just because my best friend didn't look noble enough for your squid stand." I looked him up and down. "Tell me, how picky can you be when you have fish entrails on your hands? Do you even wash under your nails? Do your customers know the food they put in their mouth has squid crap all over it?"

Now people were shifting from foot to foot and murmuring. But they weren't swayed. What would really piss them off was him acting entitled to something noble. Like our coin, for instance.

His brows snapped down and his mouth snapped open, but the shop owner facade was still in place. "You fancy yourself some kind of crusader? This is the best ikayaki vendor in the whole festival! I can turn away any Rukongai dog with stolen money in its jaws!"

I threw my net. "Are you sure? Even if it is, maybe I don't want the best from a pig who disrespects Shinigami. Shinigami who just got praised by Ounabara-sama himself. You turned away Aizen Sousuke-san, just a few minutes ago, and now you're badmouthing me, Hirako Nariko." The murmurs were growing to conversations among those who knew our names. I added bait. "The best clearly isn't worth your attitude." I closed my upturned hand, finger by finger.

He flushed further, rather than paling. And caught. "You brat! My ikayaki is the best in the whole damn Soul Society! I deserve every penny of your pampered noble stipend!"

"The attitude on this one!" A posh-sounding woman sniffed. "Deserving my money! And having the audacity to call us pampered."

"Such untoward pride," a man who put me vaguely in mind of Hachi grumbled.

"The black erases everything, everyone knows that!" An upperclassman girl I'd seen around campus declared. "No merchant knows better than a Shinigami!"

Above the rising din, a voice that would've been dreamy if it hadn't been edged with irritation said, "I normally dislike having to use time off to settle other people's concerns, but it's so distasteful that someone without the capacity to judge the character of anything higher than a squid carcass produces such discord. I've half a mind to report you to the festival organizers, but that just wouldn't be poetic justice." The ikayaki disappeared from the vendor's hands, and the voice said, at my back this time, "Give the young lady her ikayaki for free, and her friend from the Rukongai as well, since I suspect she's buying him some. You've done enough business for the day, wouldn't you agree?"

Rippling, multilayered reiatsu danced through the air, putting me in mind of an arpeggio, and the shop owner visibly went grey and swayed. When it lifted, he growled, "Fine! Susano'o's Ikayaki is closed for the day! Take your damn food and never come back, Hirako bitch!"

That last one ensured that the outcry at the announcement was largely drowned out by outrage at his language.

I turned to thank my assistant and came face-to-face with a man's chest, wrapped in a thistle-colored kimono. My eyes moved up over a fair, fine-boned figure, past a long, clean-shaven jaw, and crested high cheekbones. They met meticulously-maintained eyebrows with growing dismay and didn't even bother to go upwards to what they knew would be golden, wavy locks, instead dropping to meet amused lavender eyes.

Asami-sensei's lessons on etiquette—the few my parents had deemed appropriate to give me—kicked in at last and I screened the lower half of my face with my fan. "Outoribashi-sama," I forced out, "how unexpected of you to make an appearance. Do I need to introduce myself after all that?"

"No," rumbled a deeper voice, "'cause I already told him who you were." Love ambled out of the crowd, wearing a bamboo-patterned teal kimono that looked like it had seen better days. "'Rose,' I said, 'that's one of my students there, the one who got recognized along with your cousin.' And apparently that tickled Lives-in-an-epic here's fancy, so he went running over to see what all the fuss was about."

"She's so polite, Love!" Rose exclaimed delightedly, making me want to shrivel up and die even more. "You didn't say she was polite!"

"It's very nice to meet you, Outoribashi-sama," I said. "Aikawa-sensei, I didn't know you were attending the festival."

He shrugged. "Usually it's me meeting Rose farther away. Figured I'd take the chance to catch up with an old Academy pal while it was easy." He raised a dark brow. "Surprised you know who this layabout is. Didn't think you were the type to be interested in the Third or high society. Or the teahouses he spends way too much time in."

Rose flapped a hand at him. "Really, Love, she's much too young for the parties I attend." He turned to me. "You're not interested in the Third? I'm wounded."

"Forgive me for saying it, but your expression doesn't match up," I said dryly. "No, the Third isn't first on my list of divisions to serve in."

Love let out a booming laugh. "He thinks it's cool to look like he doesn't care. Good on you for not taking that shit, Hirako. But I guess that's your clan's thing. That and giving others that kinda shit."

I grinned, glancing off in the direction Shinju and Aizen had gone. Heat rose under my collar at the clan stereotype, but I had to be pragmatic. I could use that. "You betcha! I'm not even really here. It's just a trick, like in the high-class Noh plays."

Rose smiled. "That would be a marvelous maneuver to pull off. Much like the scheme you employed in your trial. Congratulations, by the way. Your name's been floated around the Third as that of a hero."

"Thank you," I said, "but Fukurokuju's crows were flying overhead." Wait, back up. "I'm a hero to the Third? That can't be right. I'm antiheroic at best. Also, if you'd like to keep talking, can we head over in that direction?" I nodded in the direction of the tournament registration booth. "I'm supposed to meet a couple people."

Love nodded, starting the journey that way. "Sure. Might as well keep one of my favorite students company."

I blinked, trailing after him. "Favorite?"

"We were talking about the Third and you," Rose interjected. "I am determined to win your loyalty by the end of the conversation, you must understand."

I hid the twist of my mouth with a practiced flick of the fan. Before intruded even into my attempts to enjoy the present. "I'm a Hirako," I chirped. "Our first loyalty is to ourselves. Even so, as much as I like you, Outoribashi-sama, the Third isn't right for what I want to do."

"Nonsense!" he replied with a toss of the head. "You'd like to advance, wouldn't you? I see that ambition in your eyes. Atypical of a Hirako, but then, you've got protagonist syndrome, don't you? You want to go out and right wrongs, change the world, be the greatest you can be?"

"Will you call me foolish if I say yes?" I asked.

Love snorted. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. Puts you a step ahead of most of your classmates, which is what makes you my favorite. Total bookworm, but you wa- hey, what do you wanna do with yourself?"

My eyes dropped to my zouri. "Just keep doing what you're doing and you'll find out," I said. "Outoribashi-sama, you were saying about the Third?"

Love rolled his eyes. "Listen t'you calling him -sama. He ain't even seated; probably skipped out on work early."

I filed that piece of information away with a dash of surprise. "Me? Some people would skin a brat like me, fresh out of her first year, if I referred to any Shinigami without a -sama attached." I thought about it for a second and added, "Anyone above my nebulous position on the social ladder, too."

Rose seemed to have gotten back on track. "Some people take all that too seriously. We're at a festival, Hirako-chan. My patron clan won't descend out of the sky to scold you." He fiddled with the sleeve of his kimono, which was decorated with court scenes. How appropriate for dramatic Rose. "Anyhow, you avenged our 20th seat! He had a bit to say about you in his last letter back, you know."

Another roll of Love's eyes. I was starting to get worried they'd fall out. "You hated that guy. That letter didn't help, I remember you saying." Suddenly the world was warm and muffled. I found a pair of calloused hands over my ears. "Wasn't he the sort who made comments about your bedroom habits?"

Rose lifted a shoulder; unlike Aizen, it came off as more graceful than stiff. "Be that as it may, he was part of the Third. So for that, and Hirako-chan telling him off so spectacularly—won't you take your hands off her ears?—I have reason to appreciate her."

Love's hands lifted. I decided not to tell him they hadn't muffled anything. "You're a bit too effusive for this to just be based on what happened in Kinsawa," I said. A thought occurred to me. "Hey, Aikawa-sensei, what rank are you?"

"Unseated in the 9th," he said over Rose's sputtered protests of sincerity. "Probably not gonna change any time soon, either. My superiors would whoop my ass for sayin' it, but the seated ranks have ossified. You gotta grease the right palms to even have a shot when someone finally gets their ass off a seat."

Rose finally ran out of babble—and breath. "Alright, alright, you've caught me out. That Zanpakutou of yours was at least half of the reason for my curiosity, though I will maintain that your personality and clever remarks have started to edge it out."

My stomach soured. "Pretend that I don't have her, then. It hardly matters, if the organization of things is like Aikawa-sensei described it."

Rose's laugh mingled with flowing water as we passed over a small bridge. "But of course it matters!" He exclaimed. "We are a military organization, Hirako-chan, and the strength of each division counts on the battlefield." He produced a fan of his own, patterned with beach roses, and fanned lustrous gold away from his face. "The captains might bicker amongst themselves to decide who'll send a cohort to what theater, but the results of that decision depend on its composition. I'd take heart in fighting alongside someone who enters the Gotei with years of harmony with her sword under her belt. Besides, most seated officers have Shikai, so if you were fortunate enough-"

"-or took matters into your own hands," Love interjected with a wink. "He's tried this spiel on me before, to get me to transfer."

"-if you were fortunate enough," Rose repeated, casting an I-don't-have-time-for-your-shit look at his friend, "to impress the right people just as a seated officer perishes valiantly in the name of duty, you could acquire a seat. One just opened up, and I'm angling for it. Now, by the time you graduate, where do you happen to have a senior to wax poetic about your impressive skills but at the Third?" His reiatsu, now methodical like a scale, played over mine. "I'm clever, you're clever. I'm noble, you're noble. I'm charming, you're eager to please. We're both strong yet tactful. Most importantly, we see something for ourselves beyond the expected trajectory."

I snapped my fan and lips shut, though the smile remained. I probably could find myself a niche at the Third. I liked Rose. I liked being complimented. But I hated people who thought they knew me, who thought they knew what I wanted. The bland solution was to be polite. The fun solution... "You'll make a good captain, but not for long," I said, making my eyes wide, thoughtful, unfocused. Honoka's eyes. Seers' eyes. "Your lieutenant... someone who won't take this crap. You're an illusionist, so perhaps she'll wield a melee-type Zanpakutou." I let the smile recede from my eyes, which snapped up to meet Rose's. "Either way, it won't be me, nor will I hold any seat below you. No means no, Outoribashi-sama, and it continues to mean no even after you flatter, assume things about, and otherwise manipulate me. Good luck on your bid for 20th Seat." I sketched a bow in his direction and made a real one to Love. "Enjoy the festival and please, consider stopping by the tournament. You can evaluate my skills for yourself if you're that determined."

I didn't leave right that instant, simply because it would've been rude to not give them a chance to say goodbye as well. Rose managed it, matching my bow and murmuring something about my having ice to match his fire. Love simply gave me a long look, evaluating and not entirely disapproving. When I was satisfied that was all they wanted to communicate, I slipped away to the tournament registration, not too far from where we'd stopped.

The stall the organizers had set up only confirmed my suspicions that it was unofficially official, especially since it barely qualified as a stall. No, this was a full-on pavilion, formed of poles with lurid portraits of warriors stretched between them. Mats made packed dirt almost into a floor. Beneath a banner emblazoned with the words 'Spiritual Champions Tournament' sat a low table piled high with papers. Two men sat cross-legged behind it, looking very pleased with their accommodations. I approached the friendlier-looking of the two, greeting the other with a nod.

"I'm here to register for the tournament," I said. "Is this the place to do it?"

He nodded, elbowing the other guy. "Hey, Jirou, you've got the spectators' forms. Fish one out for me, wouldja?"

I flicked the fan down and open into a clematis screen between Jirou's hand and the papers he reached for. "Sorry, but I'm here to register as a competitor," I said, matching my smile with an understanding inclination of the head.

The first guy, who I named Taakoizu for his eye-bleedingly bright turquoise yukata, didn't mirror it, instead chuckling. Did you have to be a certain age to chortle? I mentally corrected to 'chortling.' It had that belly-laugh, snorting quality. "Well, kid, I owe you an apology too, 'cause this is a business, and we've got the right to turn anyone we want away. Looks bad to have a little lady cut up, y'know?"

"Here, in this place where people take centuries to grow a gray hair, you're going to deny me because I look too young?" I folded my arms, still smiling, still playing around. If they really wouldn't let me, I'd back off, but there hadn't been any mention of standards to meet on the posters. And with my Hirako looks, how baby-faced could I really be? "C'mon. I'd make a great upset if I won. And if I lose, you can say whoever it is beat Hirako Nariko. End my five minutes of fame and all."

Taakoizu and Jirou exchanged a look. Finally Jirou smacked him in the shoulder.

"Idiot! I think she's one of the ones who received special honors today!" he said.

Taakoizu scratched his head. "You sure? Anyone can claim to have that name."

Jirou gestured in the direction of my face. "Look at her. She's clearly Hirako. Does it really matter if that kid from earlier was here as their representative? We have someone standing for the Hirako and a hero from Kinsawa in attendance, that's it."

I frowned. Aizen had mentioned I'd be paying for him? Weird, but they knew what a Hirako looked like. They'd probably figured if someone hadn't come by to pay his fee, they'd chase one of us down and get it paid. "Then I'll pay for the both of us." I counted the correct amount of kan and extended it to them.

In sharp contrast to their squid-selling peer, they didn't leap at the double payment. Taakoizu raised an eyebrow at it, even.

"What're you doing, kid? The other kid already paid for himself," he explained. "Just pay for your own and fill out the form."

Curioser and curioser. Maybe he was done taking my charity. But that didn't explain his taking Shinju's charity, which he would've had to do to get admittance. "I guess I'll take that, then."

When I'd filled it all out—an assortment of disclaimers mixed with a questionnaire about my skills and a mini-autobiography—they stamped my hand with a green clover and directed me towards the tournament venue. "Good luck to all competitors," Jirou explained, and even if I didn't believe in luck, I believed in the power of well-wishes to lift your chin a little higher. Though I still felt strange walking in zouri after so long, my strides were longer, my steps surer as I walked into the competition complex.

It was pretty, in the frenetic, cluttered way of a beehive, people flitting from cell to cell, and strange. Clumps of festival-goers and vendors had broken off to surround it, the latter taking advantage of the attraction and the former busying themselves before it actually began. Inside, it bore a resemblance to your standard competition hall, like the rarely-used one back home, a massive rectangular central room with a few smaller rooms branching off for things like equipment. This one, though, was multi-storied, with interior balconies spreading out above to form something like a stadium. Painted screens were being set up above, some with mon or symbols that indicated clans and some just looking nice, presumably to give the more traditional ladies some privacy or hide anything that did get out of hand.

A motley crew had already gathered in the center, mostly older students. None wore their uniforms. Whether that was a rule or due to the festival I couldn't say, but it lent the impression of barely-contained chaos to those assembled. Someone, presumably a festival organizer, stood at a podium, reading instructions. She looked up from them at my entrance, because of course she did.

"Ah, we have a newcomer," she said. "I won't slow us down too much by going over it all again; suffice it to say that due to high numbers of enrollment so far we will most likely be sorting you into pairs to make the duels manageable. Your partner will inform you of the rest."

"Nariko-san!" Shinju—Shinju?!—hissed. "Pair up with me."

Too confused to do much other than agree, I joined her and found my second surprise of the day.

Minoru strained to see above the crowd besides Hiyori. I'd hoped Hiyori would come along, but Minoru hadn't even occurred to me. Well, the more the merrier. They'd make an entertaining pair, both being short and scrappy.

My gaze slid right and found my third, and by far the nastiest, surprise.

Aizen stood at the fringes of the crowd, green clover stamp visible as he scratched the back of his neck. He'd come as a competitor of all things. I had half a mind to force Shinju on him, so they could both see how people who had apparently decided to join on a whim fought together. The shock of seeing the figure next to him I mentally combined into Aizen's surprise, because it subsided so quickly they might as well have been one and the same.

Shinji had joined. Shinji, that underhanded, self-righteous, itching-for-a-fight bastard. When we were done here, I was going to twist his fingers until he couldn't hold a sword or he told me why he was really here, whichever came first.

But we weren't done, so I clasped my hands, touched up the edges of my smile, and waited. All things in due time.

Notes:

The students at the beginning are organized 'alphabetically' according to the Japanese equivalent of alphabetical (gojuuon) order, which places Shinji and Nariko in the middle of the pack by last name and Shinji before Nariko (to her right, in accordance with Japanese reading order).

Also, the Bleach wiki says Nariko's Shikai is impossible, but it also says Hyourinmaru can control water and ice. If anyone complains, her 'element' is storm. So there.