Rukia Kuchiki

After chatting about the Eleventh Division's usual antics and complaining about Captain Zaraki's incomprehensible "training" methods, the topic circled back, after a brief silence, to that name in a subtle way.

Liu Chuan held his wine cup, his gaze resting on the clear liquid swaying inside. He asked casually, his voice steady and revealing little probing intent:

"Come to think of it, Renji, when Rukia decided... to accept the Kuchiki Household's arrangements, you were by her side, weren't you?"

Renji's hand paused slightly as he raised his cup. Then, with a gulp, he downed over half of it before wiping his mouth and giving a vague "Yeah," his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table.

"Back then," Liu Chuan's gaze shifted from his cup to the side of his friend's face as he continued in that matter-of-fact tone,

"did you ever think about doing something? Or looking back now, do you ever feel like... maybe you should've done something to stop her from stepping into that world?"

Bang.

Renji set his cup down on the table a little too heavily, producing a dull thud.

He suddenly looked up, his crimson brows tightly furrowed, the usual boldness and straightforwardness gone from his face.

In their place was the irritation of someone whose sore spot had been abruptly touched, along with deeper, nearly overflowing emotions too complicated to name.

"Stop her? With what was I supposed to stop her?!" His voice rose unconsciously, but he didn't care—or rather, he had no time to care right now.

"That was the Kuchiki Household! The head of the Four Great Noble Houses! Captain Kuchiki personally came forward. What they offered, what they could give Rukia, were things someone like me, rolling around in the mud of Rukongai, wouldn't even dare dream of!"

"Safety, status, never having to worry about going hungry again, never having to worry about being attacked by Hollows... What right did I have to stop her? What qualifications did I have?!"

The words burst out of him like a barrage, carrying intense emotion that he didn't know was directed at Liu Chuan's question or at the helpless, frustrated version of himself from back then.

But after the outburst, that momentum quickly wilted away. He lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously digging into the rough patterns on the side of the cup.

The noise of the tavern seemed to be shut out from their small corner, leaving only the slightly oppressive silence at their table.

"Regret..." Renji's voice dropped, hoarse as he repeated the sharper word from Liu Chuan's question.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to put on his usual dismissive sneer, but failed. His expression twisted into an indescribable bitter smile.

"If I said I'd never thought about it, that'd be bullshit." He stared into his cup, as though he could see the past in its reflection.

He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out, heavy with the scent of alcohol. "I regret it... I regret why I was so weak back then."

"At Shin'ō Academy, my grades were worse than yours. I had no talent for Kido, just brute strength. After graduation, I fought desperately to become stronger and joined the Eleventh Division. I thought it was enough as long as I could fight, but some things can't be solved just by cutting them down."

"I even..." His voice dropped lower, nearly becoming a murmur to himself.

"I even regret whether, back in Rukongai, I shouldn't have always dragged her around causing trouble. If I'd been more dependable, if I'd gotten stronger sooner, could I have given her... given her a stable place where she wouldn't need to rely on anyone else's charity?"

But he said those words without any confidence. They knew Rukongai's cruelty better than anyone.

On that land where the strong devoured the weak, so-called "stability" was something painfully luxurious and illusory.

"But..." Renji suddenly took another swig of wine. This time, he drank too quickly and choked, coughing twice. The corners of his eyes reddened, whether from the coughing or something else.

"But what would that have changed? What could I have said? Was I supposed to cling to her leg and cry, 'Don't go'? That would've made me a real bastard!"

Liu Chuan listened quietly without interrupting or judging him.

He simply watched as his friend, aided by the alcohol and that direct question, poured out all the emotions he'd suppressed for years in one go.

He understood Renji's pain. It didn't come from a lack of care or affection. Quite the opposite—it came from the wrenching gap between caring deeply and lacking the strength to offer a "better choice."

And from the loneliness of watching someone important walk down a road destined to be filled with distance, while being powerless to accompany them.

In the end, Renji seemed to have exhausted all his strength. His shoulders sagged slightly, and his voice was weary.

"So what good is regret? She chose that road herself, and it was also the best road for her that I could see at the time."

"What I can do now is keep getting stronger. Strong enough that if she ever needs help, I'll have the power to do something instead of just watching like I did back then."

Liu Chuan picked up his own cup, which he had barely touched, and gently pushed it in front of Renji.

"You weren't wrong, Renji." Liu Chuan finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a strange kind of conviction.

"Rukia wasn't wrong either. At that moment, you both made the choices you could, based on your own understanding and abilities."

"Yeah... maybe." He spoke softly and drained the wine in his cup. This time, he swallowed much more slowly.

"Thanks, Liu Chuan. Sometimes, talking to a guy like you really does help clear my head." He tried to pull out another smile, though it was still a little forced.

Liu Chuan smiled faintly and didn't continue the heavy subject.

He knew some knots took time to untangle, and the people involved had to unravel them themselves. All he could do was offer a listening ear and a little calm analysis from an outsider's perspective.

"Boss, bring another jug!" Renji shouted toward the counter, some of his usual energy returning to his voice, though the complicated shadow deep in his eyes had not fully faded.

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