Floating Duckweed

Author's Note

1: Ensemble cast, multi-threaded tasks, with daily life driving the plot.

2: Some chapters may feel forced and severely disjointed just for the sake of it; this only applies to a small minority.

3: Regarding power scaling, the dungeon difficulty given to the protagonist is always very high, so situations where he cannot deal damage will occur.

4: Captains and lieutenants automatically have the limiter seal applied when going to the World of the Living; this is Kubo's setting.

5: This work contains a large amount of secondary creation content, meaning fan-made settings; do not disturb if you dislike this.

Rukongai

North 79th District

This is one of the furthest border areas of Rukongai, and the light of Seireitei has never shone upon this land.

The moon in the sky is blocked by dark clouds, and only sparse stars sprinkle a dim silver glow upon the cracked earth.

The wind blows from the east, carrying sand, dust, and the stench of decay.

Shuichi curls up behind a collapsed earthen wall, wrapping himself in a tattered cloth picked up from God knows where.

He has not eaten anything for three days.

This is nothing out of the ordinary.

In this district, hunger is the only constant.

The wandering souls around him do not need to eat; they lack Reiatsu, remaining merely walking masses of consciousness that sustain their existence by drinking water.

The way they look at him is like looking at a monster.

"Why do you still need to eat?"

"Are you a dead man or a living person?"

"Get away from me, you smell like a living person."

Shuichi does not blame them, for he himself cannot figure out what he is.

Unlike other wandering souls, he does not know why he came here; he cannot remember his past, yet he clearly knows this is the world of the dead.

Yet this body stubbornly refuses to become a "deceased person."

He once tried to go to the further-ahead districts.

Even if it were only the 60th District, he heard there was food, order, and even a chance to be chosen by people from Seireitei to become a Soul Reaper.

But he was driven back halfway there.

The people of those districts said he was a stray dog from the back streets, unworthy of stepping into their territory.

Thus he could only return here, living in this barren wilderness without even a name like a real stray dog.

Today's luck seems decent.

He dug half a moldy flatbread out of the ruins; who dropped it is unknown, as it has already become hard as a stone, covered in grayish-green mold spots.

He breaks it into small pieces, stuffs them into his mouth, slowly softens them with saliva, and swallows.

It is bitter, puckery, and has a muddy smell.

Yet he eats very seriously, chewing every bite for a long time, as if doing so can squeeze more nutrients out of this rotting food.

After finishing the last bite, he licks the crumbs clinging to his fingers clean, then sits leaning against the wall and closes his eyes.

He survived another day.

How funny.

He does not even know why he is living.

With no purpose, no belonging, and no one needing him.

He merely instinctively resists death, just like all living things.

The wind stops.

The surroundings suddenly grow quiet, unnaturally quiet.

Shuichi opens his eyes.

Three steps away from him, a blade stands slanted in the ground.

The blade body is covered in rust, the cord wrapped around the hilt is so rotted its original color is barely discernible, and the guard is crooked, as if someone casually shoved it into the dirt and then forgot about it here.

Yet Shuichi recognizes what it is.

Asauchi.

In the rumors that occasionally drifted from the direction of Seireitei, he heard of such things.

The swords used by Soul Reapers are initially these nameless Asauchi.

When a Soul Reaper's Reiatsu syncs with it, it becomes a one-of-a-kind Zanpakutō.

He did not know why an Asauchi appeared in a place like this.

Maybe a Soul Reaper dropped it while chasing a Hollow, maybe a transport squad lost it while passing by, or maybe... it was simply abandoned here in the first place.

Just like him.

Shuichi stared at that blade, a low, hoarse laugh escaping his throat.

"Were you thrown away too?"

No one answered him.

The Asauchi was quietly stuck in the dirt, covered in rust, silent as a piece of scrap metal.

He should turn and leave.

This kind of thing had no meaning for him; he was no Soul Reaper, he had no Reiatsu, he was merely a vagrant who couldn't even get enough to eat, a living corpse trapped in Soul Society.

Yet he still stood up.

His steps were very slow, as if he were being pulled by something.

One step, two steps, three steps.

He bent down and reached out to grip the hilt.

The cord on the hilt made his palm itch.

He pulled it out.

The rust-covered blade was lighter than he imagined, so light he could practically feel no weight at all.

Moonlight shone upon the edge, casting no reflection, only a layer of lifeless gray.

Shuichi looked at this blade, suddenly feeling that he and it were very much alike.

Both were abandoned.

Both were corroded.

Both were nameless.

The blade quivered slightly.

It was no illusion.

He clearly felt a faint warmth transmitted from his palm, like a spark buried deep within the ashes, trying to burn once more.

Shuichi didn't even have time to let go.

Reiatsu.

The Reiatsu he had never noticed, which had always slumbered within his body, seemed ignited by something, surging forth from every corner of his body and pouring frantically into that Asauchi.

The rust on the blade peeled off in an instant, revealing a blindingly white blade underneath.

Shuichi opened his mouth, but could make no sound.

He felt his body expanding; that power was simply too great, too massive for his body to contain. It was like a balloon stretched to its absolute limit, ready to burst at any second.

The surrounding Reishi air began to distort, the ground cracking, rubble floating.

He tried to let go of his hand, but his fingers seemed welded to the hilt, completely unable to move.

His Reiatsu refused to obey him.

It was like a beast locked up for too long that had finally found an exit, rushing outward recklessly.

Shuichi's consciousness began to blur, and he heard the sound of his own heartbeat, fast as drumbeats, followed by tinnitus, a sharp buzzing that drowned out everything else.

Beneath his feet, the earth split open. What surged from the fissure was not soil, but gushing streams of turbid Reiatsu, like steam and dense fog, spreading in all directions.

The surrounding wandering souls screamed and fled, sensing the terror of that pure, untamed power.

Shuichi collapsed onto his knees, gripping the sword tightly with both hands as the blade drove into the dirt.

His eyes began to bloodshot, warm liquid flowing from his nostrils, but he felt no pain.

He felt only a single thought, clear as if carved into his bones:

I don't want to be thrown away anymore.

Then, darkness swallowed him.

Shuichi awoke amidst a sheet of white light.

Above his head was an unfamiliar ceiling.

It was not the sort of smoke-blackened, dilapidated thatched roof that could collapse at any moment, but a smooth, pristine ceiling without even a single crack.

There was a faint scent of sandalwood in the air.

He lay upon a tatami mat, soft bedding spread beneath him, covered by a thin blanket. He glanced down at his hand.

Clean.

Already cleaned up by someone.

"Awoken?"

A voice came from the side.

Shuichi sat up abruptly, straining his injuries and drawing a sharp gasp of pain.

He turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk not far away.

The man wore a black crossover-collar short tunic and black hakama, with a white haori thrown over them.

He wore his hair in a sakayaki style with a walrus mustache, and bore a cross-shaped scar on his forehead. His features were stern, and an aura of natural majesty emanated from between his brows.

"Where is this..." Shuichi looked around.

"Seireitei, Gotei 13, First Division Barracks."

The man put down his teacup. "I am Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13."

Shuichi froze.

He had heard that name before.

In the most remote corners of Rukongai, wandering souls who had lived longer occasionally mentioned it.

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, the strongest Soul Reaper in Soul Society, founder of the Gotei 13, the man wielding the strongest Zanpakutō.

Yet he had never imagined he would be sitting in the same room with this person.

"I..." Shuichi gathered his thoughts.

"Why am I here?"

"Your Reiatsu went out of control."

The two exchanged questions and answers.

Yamamoto looked at Shuichi, his face calm. "That Reiatsu nearly flipped over half the blocks in North 79th District."

Yamamoto suddenly paused his words, and the two locked eyes as silence fell over the room for a moment.

After only a brief interval, Yamamoto spoke again, asking, "When you grasped that Asauchi, how did it feel?"

Shuichi was stunned for a moment, then looked at the blade not far away on the sword rack, which now had a black scabbard fitted onto it, along with a replaced handguard and non-slip grip.

He could sense something sleeping inside the sword.

"I..."

He recalled how it felt at the time. "It was very hot, like a ball of fire, burning until my whole body felt like it was going to explode."

"Hn."

Yamamoto nodded, his expression not shifting in the slightest. "Your Reiatsu is very powerful, far surpassing the level of an ordinary Soul Reaper, but you have never received training nor do you have any experience controlling Reiatsu. That Asauchi became the fuse, allowing your Reiatsu to find an outlet, but you lacked the ability to guide it, so it ran wild."

He crossed his hands and folded them across his chest, his gaze landing on Shuichi.

"What is your name?"

Shuichi looked at him and thought for a moment.

Name, was it...

He certainly had a name. He remembered his name, remembered it clearly, but in this Rukongai, no one called him by his name. They called him that freak who needed to eat, called him the stray dog from the backstreets, called him hey.

It had been a very long time since he had heard anyone ask his name.

"Shuichi."

He spoke, his voice very soft, as if he were afraid of breaking those two words.

"Shuichi."

Yamamoto nodded. "Kusajishi of North 79th District?"

Shuichi fell silent once more. He knew that place seemed to be called North 79th District, but Kusajishi? He had never heard that name.

"Your Reiatsu is not something an ordinary Rukongai resident could possess."

He said, "What kind of person were you in life?"

Shuichi shook his head. "I don't remember."

He said, "I only remember that when I was alive... I was human. Everything else, I can't remember a thing."

This was the truth. He remembered sunlight, rain, hunger and cold, remembered someone once holding his hand, but those memories all seemed to be separated by a layer of frosted glass where he could see the outlines but not make out the details.

Yamamoto did not press further.

"Are you willing to become a Soul Reaper?"

Shuichi raised his head.

This question came far too suddenly.

He was merely a vagrant from the very bottom of Rukongai, a freak who could not even afford a meal, a good-for-nothing who could not even control his Reiatsu. What qualifications did he have to become a Soul Reaper?

Yet there was no pity in the old man's eyes, no charity.

There was only a calm, examining gaze, as if he were asking a soldier whether he was willing to go to the battlefield rather than asking a vagrant whether he wanted a bowl of food.

"I..." Shuichi lowered his head, looking at his own hands.

"I have nowhere left to go."

He said, "I can't even figure out what kind of thing I am. But if becoming a Soul Reaper can let me..."

He trailed off.

Let him do what?

Stop starving? Stop being treated like a monster? Or... let him find that answer: what on earth was he?

He did not know.

Yet he knew he did not want to return to that wasteland that lacked even a name.

"I am willing."

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto watched him for a long time.

Then, he stood up and walked over to the window. Outside the window was the sky of Seireitei, blindingly blue.

"From today onward, you are a reserve member of the Gotei 13."

Yamamoto's voice came from behind his retreating figure. "You will be assigned an instructor to learn Reiatsu control, Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Shunpo, and Kidō. If you pass, you will obtain an official seated position."

He turned his head and looked at Shuichi.

"If you die, no one will remember you."

Shuichi froze for a moment.

"I won't die," he said.

Some time later...

Shuichi arrived at a small courtyard on Seventy-fourth Street, First District, West Rukongai.

Unlike the cramped ordinary parts of Rukongai, these houses all had independent small courtyards.

The Soul Reaper who led the way told him this was a residence arranged for him by the Captain-Commander. Not all divisions of the Soul Reapers had their barracks in Seireitei; some were located in Rukongai. Because he had not yet joined a division, the division dormitories were temporarily closed to him.

Therefore, the Captain-Commander had arranged a residence for him here.

The guiding Soul Reaper left after bringing him there.

The exterior wall was white, but had grown somewhat gray due to time, with weeds sprouting at the base of the wall. The roof tiles were uniformly black, and the gate before him was made of wood, yet new.

Entering through the gate was a courtyard with a tree planted inside. Shuichi did not recognize the tree. Then there were two side rooms on either side, with the main protagonist being a two-story main house.

Many of the neighbors nearby were reportedly Rukongai residents with modest wealth.

Entering the main house, there was a spacious hall and a table. On the table sat a sword rack and a withered potted plant.

To the left was a study; to the right were stairs and a bedroom. Inside the bedroom there was also a sword rack and an armor rack.

Oh, and a cabinet, with bedding inside.

Upstairs there was nothing at all, seeming to be a storage room.

He placed the sword onto the sword rack.

He opened the window.

He sat cross-legged inside the room, looking at the tree outside the window.

This feeling was so surreal.

Yet it also felt as though he had experienced this feeling before.

How strange.

Why did he feel like he had experienced it?

Where had he experienced it?