You Never Know What Is Enough Unless You Know What Is More Than Enough

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.--William Blake<The Marriage of Heaven and Hell>(1790-1793)

When Sylvan woke up, he found himself lying in an unfamiliar Japanese-style room.

Morning light streamed in through the cracks in the window lattice, cutting thin strips of light across the tatami mats. A faint scent of herbs filled the air, mingled with the distant groans of the wounded and the muffled thud of stretcher wheels rolling over the stone pavement.

He lay on his back, staring at the wooden beam above his head for a long time before slowly propping himself up.

The wounds on his body had been carefully treated, covered with thin gauze, and even the scratches on his arms from the branches had been thoughtfully treated with ointment.

The black sleeveless vest, which had been soaked in blood, was now cleaned up and neatly folded next to the pillow, the silver ripples on the collar gleaming slightly in the morning light.

"Sister Keiko's cooking skills are as good as ever."

The jet-black cane lay quietly beside the bed, its fine lines gleaming with a dark luster in the light.

Sylvan reached out and grasped the handle of his cane, and that familiar, extremely faint suction immediately emanated from deep within the cane.

He had grown accustomed to the feeling of having his Reiatsu drained—just as he had grown accustomed to this thin, almost bony body, to his legs that couldn't perform Shunpo, and to his hands that couldn't control the Kidō.

He got out of bed, leaned on his cane, and walked towards the only door leading to the outside world from the room.

Pulling open the shoji door, one finds a spacious, Japanese-style office with several documents spread out on the desk, the ink still fresh.

The side door was open, and the morning breeze blew in from outside, carrying the earthy scent of freshly watered soil from the courtyard.

He walked to the side door and saw a black-haired woman wearing the haori of the Fourth Division Captain kneeling on the balcony, holding a celadon teacup in her hands, quietly gazing at the black pine tree in the courtyard that was shining in the morning light. Her back was very quiet, so quiet that she almost blended into the morning light.

"Are you awake, Ye Xing?" Retsu Unohana didn't turn around, but gently placed the teacup in her hand on the tray beside her.

Sylvan stood in the doorway, his cane tapping lightly on the wooden floor. "Captain Unohana, thank you for saving me, but—" He paused, a faint sadness flashing in his silver eyes, "I am not Yexing Hu, I've disappointed you."

Unohana turned her head, her usual gentle eyes landing on him. "Oh dear, do you think denying it will make a difference in front of the doctor who treated you twice?"

Unohana stared at him for a long time, so long that Sylvan almost thought she was examining his soul in some way he couldn't perceive.

Finally, a very faint smile appeared on her lips. She reached out and took another cushion from the low cabinet beside her, placed it on the other side of the tray, picked up the teapot, and poured new tea into an empty cup.

The steam from the tea rose gently in the morning light, carrying a faint fragrance. "Come sit here for a while, and we can take this opportunity to talk about your current health."

Sylvan looked at Unohana, at the full teacup, and weighed the chances of him escaping from a captain in his current body. He concluded that it was roughly zero.

He had no choice but to walk over with his cane, sit down on the cushion, and place the cane beside his knees. The patterns on the cane were still slightly shiny.

"Why are you in this situation?" Unohana picked up her teacup, her tone casual as if discussing the weather. "Was it a mistake in using your Zanpakuto's power?"

Sylvan shook his head, his fingers tightening slightly on the handle of his cane. "This current state is indeed caused by the Zanpakuto's power—but it's not a mistake."

He lowered his head, looking at the tea slowly swirling in the teacup. "The Hollow Poison Aizen used on Koko was completely different from the methods he used on others in the past. It was a potent poison he concocted to completely corrupt Koko into a Hollow."

The Hollow born from this potent poison is rooted in Amber's Id; it will not die as long as Amber lives... After forcibly connecting herself to that Hollow, Amber divided her soul into five parts to dissolve the Hollow, and then Integration to allow Amber to return to her original state. This was the original plan."

"Since that's the case." Unohana put down her teacup, placed her hands folded on her knees, and said in a soft, gentle voice, "As a part of Amber, why do you give me the feeling that you're unwilling to admit you're Yexing Hu?"

Sylvan gripped his cane tightly; the cane still absorbed his Reiatsu, and the fine lines beneath his fingertips felt slightly warm. He looked at his left hand, wrapped in gauze, and at the abrasions on the back of his hand that hadn't faded even after so long.

Because I'm really not him.

"They clearly share the same body and have the same memories?"

"Yes, even so, I am not him." His voice was low, each word seemingly forced out from the depths of his throat. "I am merely a fragment of him, unable even to fight properly. Of all his fragments, I am the weakest."

Unohana tilted her head. "Oh? You've seen all the other fragments? Are you so sure?"

Sylvan's fingers gripped his cane so tightly they turned slightly white. "Not yet, but I've received the least amount of Reiatsu, and I haven't received any of the techniques like Shunpo, Kidō, or Hakuda."

All I have to offer is the right to use this Blade of Power, but because of my weak Reiatsu, even the Blade of Power has become like this.

He patted the cane beside him, his voice carrying a faint, almost barely concealed self-deprecation. "And this is where things deviated the most from the original plan."

Unohana's gaze fell on the cane. She frowned and stared at it for a long time. Sylvan thought she simply didn't understand what was so special about the cane and was about to explain when Unohana spoke up before he could:

"Is the authority to command the Sōkyoku considered weak?"

Sylvan abruptly raised his head, his silver pupils slightly contracting. "You... could tell?"

"The Sōkyoku have stood there since the Gotei 13 was established. How could I not recognize them?" Unohana picked up her teacup and gently blew away the steam rising from the rim. "Even if its appearance changes, the unique aura of the Shellbreaker King remains constant. Before it was sealed away, the Shellbreaker King was an extremely dangerous being. I never expected it to be so obedient in your hands."

Sylvan's fingers slowly traced the outline of his cane. The fact that his secret had been seen through at a glance did not stir any extra emotions in him; all that filled him was weariness—a weariness that welled up from the depths of his soul, a weariness that was hard to describe.

"But all I got was the right to use it." He looked down at his hands, which were so thin they were almost just bones. "Without Reiatsu, even the most special power is useless."

He paused, his voice trailing off. "Moreover, I don't know if it's because my soul is incomplete, but my Reiatsu seems to be locked at its limit. The Reiatsu that used to increase constantly is now like a stagnant pool."

He looked up at the distant blue sky. "Perhaps this is the limit of my potential as Sylvan, but the Blade of Power is clearly the key to Amber's return—and I struggle even to wield it, so how am I supposed to use it to achieve Integration?"

After hearing this, Unohana gently placed her teacup on the tray and refilled it with tea. "Would you like to hear the doctor's opinion here?"

She raised her eyes, those usually gentle eyes now calm and serious. "According to my diagnosis, your soul has been divided into five equal parts."

Therefore, the five fragments should be equal; any comparison of strength or weakness is one-sided.

"But my Reiatsu..." Sylvan wanted to retort.

"Reiatsu is only a part of Soul Reaper's power." Unohana's voice was devoid of any extra emotion, as if she were simply stating a basic fact.

This is actually a sentence that every Soul Reaper in Seireitei has been taught. Many Soul Reaper think it's just a comforting phrase, but when Unohana says it, Sylvan finds it inexplicably convincing.

"But I wasn't assigned any of the four Soul Reaper techniques either..."

"The Four Techniques, as the name suggests, are skills." Unohana picked up her teacup and took a sip. "If you forget them, just practice them again; if they disappear, just train them again. It's just a matter of starting over from the beginning, so what's there to worry about? Kidō, Shunpo, and Hakuda require Reiatsu support, so what about Zanjutsu?"

Sylvan's cane tightened slightly. "I only have some experience using weapons. Without Jiku'a, it's all useless."

"I can't pretend I didn't hear that." Unohana put down her teacup, the bottom of which touched the lacquer tray with a very soft, crisp sound.

She raised her eyes, and the gentleness in them had somehow diminished, replaced by a calmer, almost serious earnestness.

"The 'slash' in the 'Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō' technique of 'Soul Reaper Slayer' doesn't refer to the Zanpakuto."

Sylvan dismissed it, turning his head away. "How could ordinary Zanjutsu possibly work in Soul Society?"

Unohana placed her hands on her knees, tilted her head slightly, and looked directly into Sylvan's eyes. "Look into my eyes."

Sylvan instinctively turned around, but Unohana's eyes, usually so gentle and tender, were now completely empty.

It was a pure "emptiness" that had been forged through countless trials and tribulations, refined by countless battles, and deep within that void, something was silently awakening.

Only when it surged into Sylvan's eyes through the space between their gazes did he realize that it was a murderous aura like that of a demon from hell!

Sylvan sprang backward, his cane bobbing up from his knee and landing precisely in his palm, the fine lines on the cane lighting up in that instant.

He knelt a few steps away, gripping his cane with both hands and holding it horizontally in front of him, assuming a defensive stance; his breathing stopped.

It wasn't out of fear; he had no time for fear. The murderous aura pinned him to the spot. His muscles screamed, his bones grew cold, and his heart pounded violently in his chest—his mind and body knew perfectly well that if he didn't defend himself with all his might, he would die.

In the next instant, everything came to an abrupt halt; the murderous aura vanished completely, as if it had never existed.

Unohana picked up her teacup again, gently blew away the steam rising from the rim, and let out a sigh of relief. She looked up at Sylvan, who was still in a defensive stance. "Sylvan, don't worry. As a captain, I wouldn't casually lay a hand on a member of the Gotei 13."

She paused, then added, "Also, if you stop breathing, you might faint again from lack of oxygen."

Sylvan then realized that he had been so overwhelmed by Unohana's gaze that he had forgotten to breathe. He took a deep breath, and his lungs felt like they had been squeezed for too long and were finally released. The moment the air rushed in, he almost felt pain.

He was panting heavily, sweat trickling down his forehead and dripping onto the wooden floor. Unohana waited until his breathing calmed down a bit before putting down her teacup.

Her voice returned to its usual gentle and calm tone. "Sylvan, was it my Reiatsu that was suppressing you just now?"

Sylvan shook his head, still panting and unable to speak, but he knew very well that the oppressive feeling that had made him instinctively raise his staff in defense had not come from Reiatsu at all.

The pressure of Reiatsu is external and heavy, like a heavy object pressing on your chest, while the killing intent just now was internal and sharp, like a blade gliding across your skin—directly piercing into the depths of your instincts.

"It's not just Reiatsu that can suffocate a person."

Unohana's fingers gently traced the rim of her teacup, her gaze passing over Sylvan and landing on the black pine tree in the courtyard, which gleamed in the morning light.

"Even when you stand at the end of the path of the Kendo, it's still possible."

She removed her hands from the teacup, placing them folded on her knees as if recalling something from long ago. Sunlight streamed in obliquely from the side window, falling on her ever-gentle face and outlining very faint lines at the corners of her eyes—lines left by the long years.

"My Reiatsu growth had already stopped long before the Gotei 13 was established."

Sylvan raised his head, his silver pupils slightly contracting. For him, who had only watched 366 episodes of the original anime, Retsu Unohana's past was almost entirely unknown.

"You heard me right." Unohana's voice was still gentle, but something extremely ancient was slowly awakening in her eyes. "As long as you live long enough, the limit of Reiatsu growth will inevitably come—this is a fact that every Soul Reaper must face."

There is a limit to the increase in Reiatsu, but most people die before reaching that limit, so very few people know about it.

Her fingers lightly traced the rim of the glass. "Captain-Commander Yamamoto knows, because he's one of the few who survived after reaching the limit. And he knows, and I know too."

"If what you say is true," she looked up at Sylvan's silver eyes, "Should I stop and wallow in self-pity after reaching the limit of my Reiatsu growth?"

Sylvan knelt on the floor, panting heavily, his sweat dripping onto the wooden board, leaving a small, dark, damp stain.

He slowly propped himself up, using his cane to support himself as he knelt down again, determined to listen to the guidance and experience of those who had come before him.

Unohana clearly appreciated this attitude. She waited until he was fully upright before continuing:

"Yexing Hu —your true form—is a near-omnipotent Soul Reaper. The speed at which he transitions from Shikai to Bankai is the fastest in Soul Society history. Even Aizen is wary of the power of his Jiku'a, Toki Karasu. He is proficient in all four techniques Zanpakuto, Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō. He can even transform Sōkyoku into his power."

Her fingers paused on the rim of the teacup. "People who come into this world with such near-perfect talent and ability are extremely rare. In these thousands of years, besides him, there have only been two such people."

She held up one finger.

"One is the founder of the Gotei 13 — Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryūsai."

Another finger was raised as well. "The other one is the progenitor of the Quincy, who was defeated by Captain-Commander Yamamoto a thousand years ago."

She put down her hand and picked up her teacup again. "You're overcomplicating things. You've simply become a little more mediocre. You don't have Jiku'a in your hand anymore, but the swords formed from Sōkyoku are still in your hands. Although you've lost many special abilities, the foundation of your Zanjutsu is still there. Your path is very clear, and you're not crippled."

She took a sip of tea, raised her eyes, and looked directly at Sylvan: "What's holding you back now, preventing you from moving forward, is just that pointless fear."

Sylvan's fingers tightened slightly on his cane.

"If you understand, then you should stand up." Unohana finished her tea, placed the cup on the tray, and the bottom of the cup touched the lacquer tray with a very soft, crisp sound. "Whether it's Muramasa hiding in the shadows or Aizen stationed in Hueco Mundo —they won't wait for you. There's no time to hesitate."

Sylvan knelt there, head bowed, looking at his hands, which were so thin they were almost just bones. His cane rested quietly beside his knees, the patterns on it gleaming faintly in the morning light.

That extremely faint suction force was still there— the Blade of Power continued to absorb his Reiatsu, maintaining the minimal existence of this withered sword in its own way.

He recalled what Daku had said to him in front of the Qinghui Clothing Shop: Shimizu knew that Daku came from the remnants of the Void, yet he still said, "You are a part of my soul"; he recalled Unohana had just said, "Your soul has been divided into five equal parts."

"Even someone like me, am I still an indispensable part of Yexing Hu?"

He slowly raised his head. The light in his silver pupils had not fully returned, but his eyes were no longer completely gray.

"... Captain Unohana." He bowed to Captain Unohana. "Thank you for your guidance."

Unohana looked at him, a very faint smile playing on her lips, "It's not really guidance. It's just a doctor's advice to his patient."

She picked up her teacup and looked at the black pine tree in the courtyard, which gleamed in the morning light. "Speaking of which, your posture suggests you haven't participated in Zanjutsu training yet."

Sylvan shook his head.

"Then let's start today." Unohana put down her teacup, stood up, and the Captain's Haori fluttered slightly behind her. The morning light shone in through the side window, bathing her in a soft golden glow.

She looked down at Sylvan, who was kneeling on the balcony. His eyes had regained their usual gentleness, but beneath that gentleness lay an unyielding determination.

"The patients in the Fourth Division need me, so I can't spend too much time instructing you. But I can lend you the training ground; the Fourth Division's Dōjō is behind the office building, just across the courtyard."

She turned and walked towards the office, but after a few steps, she stopped.

"Sylvan."

Sylvan looked up.

Unohana didn't turn around; her back looked exceptionally straight in the morning light. "You just said, 'How can ordinary Zanjutsu work in Soul Society?' right?"

"Coincidentally, there are such people," she paused, "There are only two people who have reached the position of captain solely through their Zanjutsu, and one of them is standing right in front of you now."

After she finished speaking, she walked back to her office, and the shoji door closed gently behind her.

Sylvan sat on the wooden floor of the balcony, looking at the empty teacup.

"Standing at the end of the Kendo...?"

He stood up, leaning on his cane. His legs were still a little weak, but they were no longer trembling. He held the cane in his hand, feeling the extremely faint pulse on the cane—it was the Blade of Power responding to his every heartbeat, weak yet persistent, as if it too was waiting, waiting for the day when he would be worthy of this sword.

He pushed open the balcony door and walked towards the back of the office building. He walked through the corridor, opened the back door, and passed through the courtyard that was brightened by the morning light. The branches of the black pine trees swayed gently in the wind, and unknown herbs were planted on both sides of the stone path, with dew still hanging on their leaves.

The Dōjō was located at the end of the courtyard, with a heavy wooden door slightly ajar.

He pushed open the wooden door, revealing a training ground that wasn't spacious but was quiet enough. The tatami mats were neatly laid out, several bamboo swords hung on the wall, and Reishi lamp cast a cold white light overhead.

He stood in the center of the field, gripping the jet-black cane. He closed his eyes, recalling the defensive stance he had taken against Unohana earlier—it wasn't a choice he made, but a reaction of his body when suppressed by murderous intent to its instinctive limit.

"The foundation of his Zanjutsu is still intact."

He took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on the staff. The staff hung diagonally in front of him, the tip of the sword pointing at the empty tatami mat in front of him, his shoulders slightly lowered, and his knees slightly bent.

He swung the first sword.

The cane sliced through the air with a very faint whistling sound. He swung his sword again and again, adjusting a tiny detail with each strike—the angle of his wrist, the degree of bend in his elbow, and the depth of his shoulder's drop.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and dripped onto the tatami mat. He didn't know when Unohana would arrive, he didn't know when Rain would wake up, and he didn't know when his body, which had been drained of most of its soul, would be able to truly wield the Blade of Power.

But he kept swinging his sword, and he knew— Unohana was right, what had bound his legs was never Reiatsu, talent, or that withered cane, but fear.

I fear that I am not qualified, that I cannot shoulder the heavy responsibility of Integration, that I wield the Blade of Power but am not worthy of it, and that I was once an ordinary person.

"The enemy won't wait for me..."

He swung his sword down, the tip of the cane cutting into the air with a crisp, crackling sound.

"There's no time... to hesitate..."

The Dōjō was quiet, with only him there. The white light from the Reishi lamp shone on him, illuminating his black sleeveless vest, the Featherlike Pattern tattoo on his right arm covered by gauze, and his silver eyes that were finally no longer dim.