Tailor and Sword Meditation

East 30th District

The streets here were neat, the houses orderly. Most of the wandering souls living in this area had some savings, and the air was filled with an easygoing atmosphere.

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto used Shunpo to arrive before an unremarkable residence.

The residence had no plaque, and its courtyard walls were low. From outside, all one could see were the branches of an old cherry tree reaching over the wall. If no one had shown the way, no one would have imagined that the only known researcher in the Soul Society currently lived here.

Yamamoto entered the residence and, familiar with the place, found the entrance to the underground passage.

The basement door stood half-open. Without hesitation, Yamamoto pushed it open and walked inside.

The courtyard was piled high with fabric—every kind of fabric. Silk, linen, cotton, satin, and some materials whose names could not be identified. Some lay spread across the ground, some hung from poles, and some had been cut into bizarre scraps scattered everywhere.

There were also all kinds of instruments.

A woman sat beside a workbench, operating it while the mechanical arms behind her held a needle and stitched a white garment.

She looked to be around thirty. Her long hair was gathered behind her head, with a few loose strands hanging by her ears. Her features were delicate, and her brows held a tranquil focus, as though the entire world had shrunk to the tip of the needle in her hand.

Senjumaru Shutara.

She neither looked up nor stopped sewing.

"Captain-Commander, your esteemed presence is more than my humble little courtyard can bear."

Senjumaru's voice was quiet, with a trace of casual indifference in her tone. "Walking in without even knocking does not seem to follow Seireitei's rules, does it?"

Yamamoto paid no attention to her attitude.

"Something wrong?"

"Yes."

Yamamoto got straight to the point. "I need you to join the Gotei 13."

Senjumaru's hand paused.

"The Gotei 13?"

She repeated it, a hint of amusement in her voice. "That organization you are still putting together?"

"It is already operating.

"Yamamoto said. "The captains of each division are in place, and the divisions have all been established."

"Then why come to me? I make clothes, not war." Senjumaru stopped what she was doing and looked at Yamamoto.

"No. Your understanding of Reishi construction is the best in the Soul Society." Yamamoto took a document from his robes, unfolded it, and placed it on the fabric before Senjumaru.

It was a battle report.

Senjumaru lowered her gaze to read it, and her brows furrowed slightly.

"The number of Quincy at captain level..."

She paused. "Is this figure accurate?"

"If anything, it is an underestimate."

Yamamoto said, "After compiling the battle reports from each division, we concluded that the Quincy who could be called 'captain-level' number at least three times our own."

Senjumaru fell silent.

"The Shihōin Clan's Heaven-Bestowed Divine Armaments, the Kasumioji Clan's Reishi Armaments."

Yamamoto continued, "Those weapons are barely sufficient against ordinary Quincy in the hands of the nobles. But against captain-level opponents, their ability to protect themselves is deeply worrying."

"So you want me to make them better equipment?"

"Not just the nobles."

Yamamoto said, "Every member of the Gotei 13 needs better equipment. Whatever you can think of, I want it. And we need to analyze the Quincy's equipment and abilities."

Senjumaru set down her needle and thread. "Captain-Commander, do you have some misunderstanding about me? I make clothes, not weapons."

"Limited, but still better than what we have now," Yamamoto said.

Senjumaru said nothing.

"And you do not merely make clothes."

Yamamoto's gaze fell on Senjumaru's face. "Your understanding of Reishi, your use of materials, your grasp of structure—there is no second person in the entire Soul Society capable of what you can do."

"So?"

"So I need you."

Senjumaru looked at Yamamoto and remained silent for a long time.

A breeze passed through the courtyard. Petals from the old cherry tree drifted down, landing on Yamamoto's shoulders, in Senjumaru's hair, and across the scattered fabric.

"Captain-Commander." Senjumaru finally spoke. "Do you know why I do not want to join your divisions?"

"Tell me."

"Because the things I make are not meant to kill."

Senjumaru picked up her needle and thread and resumed stitching the white cloth.

"Weapons can protect people too," Yamamoto said.

"They can also kill people," Senjumaru said.

Yamamoto was silent for a moment.

"The Quincy are already killing people."

Senjumaru's needle paused for a moment, then continued.

"If I join, can you guarantee that the equipment I make will only be used for defense?"

Yamamoto looked at her but did not answer immediately.

"What I can guarantee is that I will use the equipment you make to protect the Soul Society. As for how it is used, and where it is used—that is my responsibility, not yours."

She folded the haori and placed it on her lap. "I will consider it."

Yamamoto rose and left. This was not the first time he had invited her.

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

Shuichi sat inside his own residence.

His Zanpakutō rested across his knees.

Sword Meditation.

Shuichi closed his eyes and sank his consciousness into the depths of his Reiatsu.

Since his Zanpakutō had chosen to remain permanently in Shikai, it meant that it was always speaking to its owner. The question was only whether its owner could hear it.

Shuichi could not hear it.

At least, not most of the time.

He could only follow Yamamoto's teachings: sit quietly, regulate his breathing, let his Reiatsu settle layer by layer, like water seeping into sand, like roots digging into soil, and then wait. Wait for that voice to appear—or not appear.

It seemed unlikely to appear today either.

Shuichi felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

He forced himself to stay alert and straightened his body, his fingers tightening around the hilt. He could not sleep. Sword Meditation was not sleeping; if he fell asleep, it would be meaningless. Yamamoto had said that Sword Meditation required clear awareness, not a muddled dream.

But the drowsiness surged over him like the tide, wave after wave, overwhelming his will.

Shuichi's body swayed once.

Then it swayed again.

At last, he toppled sideways onto the tatami. His Zanpakutō slipped from his knees and came to rest beside him.

He fell asleep.

His consciousness plunged into the depths.

Shuichi opened his eyes.

He stood in a sea of flowers.

Red, yellow, blue, and white spider lilies stretched as far as the eye could see, extending from beneath his feet all the way to the horizon. The sky was azure and cloudless, while the sea of flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Shuichi recognized this place.

He had come here during his last Sword Meditation, but that time, he had only caught a fleeting glimpse of it.

This time, he saw a small house deep within the flower sea.

The house was not large, with black roof tiles and gray walls. A paper lantern hung by the door, its flame flickering faintly. Beside the house stood a figure.

The person wore a white cross-collared robe beneath a red cloak, the hem fluttering gently in the wind.

Shuichi could not make out the person's face.

It was not hidden by anything. Rather, the face itself was blurred, as if seen through a layer of mist, as if viewed through frosted glass. The outline was there, the features were there, yet he simply could not see them clearly. It was hazy and indistinct, like something from a dream.

The person beckoned to Shuichi.

The movement was small, only a slight lift of the arm and a gentle curl of the fingers.

Come here.

Shuichi did not hesitate. Stepping over the stalks of the spider lilies, he crossed the sea of flowers toward the house.

By the time he reached it, the person had turned around and seated himself beneath the eaves.

A low table stood before him, with a chessboard placed atop it.

The person beckoned again.

Shuichi sat across from him at the low table.

The two began to play chess.

Shuichi did not know what he was doing. He was not very good at chess. The Genji School had taught some basic rules, but he had never seriously studied it. Yet now his hands moved on their own, pieces falling from his fingertips onto the board with crisp clicks.

Every move seemed to complete itself automatically.

The person across from him was the same.

The two played in silence, with only the sound of chess pieces striking the board echoing through the sea of flowers.

How long had they played?

Shuichi did not know.

Time had lost its meaning here. The flower sea did not change with time, the lantern did not go out, and the light remained the same. Only the pieces continued to fall onto the chessboard one by one.

Shuichi's eyelids began to grow heavy again.

Drowsiness surged over him, like water spilling forth from an even deeper place. It submerged this layer of dream and dragged him deeper still.

The sea of flowers sank into profound darkness.

Shuichi opened his eyes.

Dawn had come.

Sunlight squeezed through the gaps in the window, drawing a thin line of light across the tatami. In the distance came Seireitei's morning bell, dull and lingering, tolling again and again.

Shuichi lay on the tatami, his Zanpakutō still resting beside him.

When Shuichi left his residence, the morning Seireitei had only just begun to awaken.

Shuichi quickened his pace, crossed the corridor, and pushed open the gates of the First Division Barracks.

Okiba Genshirō was standing at the entrance, organizing a stack of documents. Seeing Shuichi enter, he looked up and greeted him. "So early?"

"Is the Captain-Commander here?" Shuichi asked.

"The Captain-Commander went out."

Okiba Genshirō said, "He did not return last night. It seemed there was some urgent matter."

Shuichi paused.

"What about Lieutenant Sasakibe?"

"In the records office." Okiba Genshirō pointed toward the end of the corridor.

Shuichi nodded and headed toward the records office.

The records office door was half-open.

Shuichi pushed it open and entered. He saw Chojiro Sasakibe seated at a desk, a thick stack of documents spread before him and a bowl of tea that had long gone cold by his hand. Sasakibe's silver hair was messier than usual, and his eyes behind his glasses were bloodshot, but the hand with which he reviewed documents remained steady, and his handwriting was as neat as ever.

"Lieutenant." Shuichi stopped at the doorway.

Sasakibe looked up and glanced at Shuichi. "What is it?"

Shuichi entered the records office and sat opposite Sasakibe. He did not speak immediately, as though organizing his thoughts.

Sasakibe set down his brush and waited for him a moment.

Shuichi finally spoke. "I fell asleep during Sword Meditation and entered a place. A sea of flowers, red flowers that looked like spider lilies. There was also a small house, and someone sitting in front of it. I could not see his face clearly."

Sasakibe leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest as he listened.

"That person asked me to go over and play chess. I did, but I do not remember what I played. Later, I... fell asleep again in the dream. When I woke up, it was dawn."

Shuichi finished speaking.

The records office fell quiet for a moment.

Chojiro Sasakibe looked at Shuichi and said, "Inner World."

Shuichi froze.

"You entered your Inner World. Your Zanpakutō resides there, and that person whose face you could not see clearly was your Zanpakutō."

Shuichi fell silent.

"Not everyone can enter their Inner World. Most Soul Reapers can only speak with their Zanpakutō from the outside for their entire lives, like knocking on a door, like shouting through a wall. Being able to enter means your Zanpakutō is willing to let you in."

"Willing to let me in?" Shuichi asked.

"Yes."

"Your Zanpakutō is inviting you."

"Then why could I not see his face clearly?" Shuichi asked again.

Sasakibe answered, "Because you are not ready yet. You cannot see all of the Inner World clearly in a single visit. Your Zanpakutō will reveal itself little by little, and you must understand it little by little as well. Not being able to see its face clearly or hear its name clearly is normal."