Enrollment

First Division Captain-Commander's Office

As Chojiro Sasakibe placed the enrollment brochure on Yamamoto's desk, sunlight streamed in through the window and fell upon the five characters "Shin'ō Academy." Yamamoto had written them himself. They had been framed before the ink was even dry, and now they had been reproduced on the brochures, every stroke square and upright as though carved into stone.

Yamamoto did not look at the brochure. He looked at Sasakibe's face.

"It didn't go smoothly."

Sasakibe did not deny it.

The First Division had set up four registration points in Rukongai's East Third District, South Third District, West Third District, and North Third District. A squad of members had been assigned to each one to handle registration, leaving Seireitei every morning and returning at dusk.

On the first day, twelve people registered in the East Third District, nine in the South Third District, seven in the West Third District, and eleven in the North Third District.

There were slightly more on the second day, but the total was still under a hundred.

"Most of them are from Districts One through Ten."

Sasakibe said, "There are very few from beyond District Eleven. Some people from past District Thirty had to walk for days just to register, but there are too few of them. And to the people of Rukongai, 'food and lodging provided' sounds much the same as 'come with us.' They aren't sure whether it's a trap."

Yamamoto was silent for a moment. "The nobles are all waiting and watching?"

"Yes."

Yamamoto walked to the window and looked down at the distant Seireitei. "Keep the registration points in Rukongai open."

He said, "Don't rush them. Don't persuade them. The same goes for the nobles. They will come."

Sasakibe nodded. "Yes."

The nobles truly were waiting and watching.

Inside an upscale restaurant in Seireitei's Central Ring, several members of the Upper Nobility sat around a table. The food and wine before them had barely been touched, while the conversation remained fixed on Shin'ō Academy.

"That old man Yamamoto said that every soul with spiritual power can register."

"The question is whether we should send anyone," one person said in a lowered voice.

No one answered, so he continued. "If we don't, then Seireitei's future defensive force will be entirely made up of people from Rukongai. What will the nobles use to protect themselves?"

Someone objected, "If we do send them, won't that mean acknowledging Yamamoto's way?"

Dusk deepened beyond the window.

Meanwhile, changes were quietly taking place in Rukongai.

Yamamoto did not need to urge anyone, nor did any captain need to step forward. The cause of the change was simple: those who had registered had not been deceived.

Several young people who had registered in North Fifth District were arranged by the First Division to stay in temporary housing on Seireitei's outer ring. There were beds and hot meals. No one made them work, and no one forced them to sign anything. The First Division member responsible for receiving them said only, "Stay here until school starts. Don't wander around," then left.

He left.

There were no guards, no locked doors, and no one took anything from them.

One of the young men secretly slipped out in the middle of the night, wanting to see whether no one was truly watching them. He wandered around that section of Seireitei and found that every house holding registrants was the same. The doors were unlocked, there were no guards outside, and anyone inside could leave whenever they wished.

He went back.

Early the next morning, he asked the others sharing his room, "Is it real? Is it really not a trap?"

But word that it was not a trap spread faster than Yamamoto's orders.

On the fifth day, a middle-aged man who had walked from District Forty-One arrived at the North Third District registration point. He carried a ragged bundle on his back, his shoes worn through and his feet covered in blisters. The First Division member handling registration asked how he had learned that he could register here.

He said, "Someone told me. Said there was a place in Seireitei that provided food and lodging and taught you skills."

The member was silent for a moment, then pushed the registration form toward him.

By the tenth day, the four registration points had registered more than three hundred people in total.

Most still came from the first ten districts, but people had gradually arrived from District Twenty, District Thirty, and even farther away. Some had walked for five days, some for ten. Some arrived after the registration point had closed and simply sat by the roadside to wait for the next day.

As for the nobles, still no one had registered.

On the evening of the tenth day, Sasakibe placed the summary report on Yamamoto's desk.

Three hundred and seventeen people.

Eighty-nine came from beyond District Twenty.

Twenty-two came from beyond District Forty.

One hundred and fifty-four had no surname.

After reading the report, Yamamoto set it aside. "Close enough. Recruit four hundred people."

And the nobles? Still no one.

North Sixty-Seventh District, Rukongai.

Shendu Wuming crouched before a house that had collapsed halfway.

Wuran stood several paces behind him.

The two of them remained there in silence for a long time.

There had originally been more than a dozen people in the courtyard.

Now only four remained: an old man blind in one eye, sitting against the wall with a wooden stick clutched as a cane; a woman holding a child as thin as a cat in her arms; and a man missing a hand, sitting on the threshold and staring blankly into the empty courtyard without a trace of expression.

Everyone else had left.

They had not said hello, had not said goodbye, and had not even looked back. One morning or late at night, they simply packed up the few possessions they had and quietly left, as silently as water seeping into sand.

"Shendu."

Wuran spoke at last, his voice soft, as though afraid of disturbing something. "That Shin'ō Academy over in Seireitei is recruiting people."

Shendu knew Wuran had gone to the districts ahead again to gather information. This time, he had not stopped him, because he truly needed information.

"They're recruiting everyone with spiritual power."

Wuran said, "They provide food and lodging. I heard quite a few people from the earlier districts have already gone."

Shendu's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.

"So that's why they left?"

He did not turn around. His voice was so calm that it barely sounded like he was speaking.

"People we struggled so hard to gather together all ran off! All that's left—"

At last, he turned and looked at the four people in the courtyard: the old man, the woman, the child, the one-handed man. Those without spiritual power. Those with spiritual power, those who could still walk, those who still had the strength to run for their lives—they had all left.

"Only these are left."

Wuran said softly, "Maybe once they finish recruiting, those wandering souls with spiritual power will come back."

Shendu did not respond.

He was not listening at all.

His gaze was fixed on some faraway point beyond the courtyard wall, toward the south, in the direction of Seireitei.

Something churned within him.

"Shendu."

Wuran's first call received no response.

"Shendu!"

At last, Shendu moved. He lowered his eyes to the Asauchi in his hand. The cracks along the blade looked like wounds beneath the sunlight—deep and dark.

"Damn Soul Reapers!"

He did not roar. His voice was quiet, but every word seemed forced through clenched teeth, carrying hatred so intense it nearly shattered them.

"Damn nobles!"

Wuran said nothing.

He did not know what to say. He had seen Soul Reapers—only from afar. They wore black Reishi robes, Zanpakutō with gleaming scabbards at their waists, and walked without looking to either side, as if the people of Rukongai did not exist.

He had also seen nobles, those gorgeously dressed people who came out of Seireitei. They never gave the people of Rukongai a proper glance, as if even the air carried Rukongai's stench.

He had no right to refute Shendu.

But he also knew that hatred could not solve anything.

The old man in the courtyard coughed.

The one-handed man sat on the threshold without moving.

He stared at the empty courtyard for a long time, then suddenly said, "It's fine that they left."

Shendu turned to look at him.

The man did not look back. He only stared into the air, as if speaking to someone who was not there.

"There's nothing here. No food, no water, not even a decent house. They left, but at least they have somewhere to live and a hot meal to eat. As for what comes later..."

At last, he lifted his eyes and glanced at Shendu.

"Later can be dealt with later."

Shendu's lips moved, but no words came out.

He wanted to say: They were tricked into leaving. Those people in Seireitei would never sincerely treat them well. By the time they realized they had been fooled, they would not even be able to come back.

But he had no proof.

He only hated. He hated Soul Reapers, hated nobles, hated this world that treated the people of Rukongai like garbage.

But what he hated most was that he could do nothing.

Wuran walked to his side, crouched down, and met his eyes.

"Shendu."

Shendu did not look at him.

"You said you wanted to build a Rukongai of our own."

Shendu's fingers twitched.

"Those people left. We know that. But if the Rukongai we build is good enough, they will come back. Not the kind of return where they stay just for food, but the kind where they return because they want to."

At last, Shendu raised his head and looked at Wuran.

The murkiness in his eyes faded a little. It was still visible.

Wuran reached out and placed a hand on Shendu's shoulder.

"Let's go."

He said, "Let's see whether anyone is still willing to stay. One or two is enough. Start with what we can do."

Shendu was silent for a long time.

Then he stood and sheathed his Asauchi at his waist.

"Let's go."

As the sun set, they passed by a small settlement.

A strange Reiatsu suddenly appeared.

Wuran was the first to react.

His fingers were already resting on the hilt of his Asauchi. "It's a Hollow!"

Before his words had even faded, Shendu had already rushed out.

He drew his Asauchi as he ran.

They hurried after Shendu in the direction he had charged.

Ruins beyond the courtyard wall.

Shendu saw the thing.

It stood atop the highest point of the ruins, like a spider that had been crushed and then pieced back together. Its eight legs were uneven in length, some thick and some thin, their joints twisted outward to expose stark white bone-like structures. Its body was an irregular sphere covered in cracks of varying sizes. Every crack faintly opened and closed like a silent screaming mouth. Its face grew where no face should have been. In the hollow among several legs was an eye—not the kind of eye that belonged on a Hollow's mask, but a real human eye, wet and bloodshot.

That eye was looking toward the courtyard.

Shendu did not give it the chance to keep looking.

He cut in from the side and swung his Asauchi horizontally. The blade whistled through the air toward the thinnest leg. It was not that he had deliberately targeted that leg—he simply had no choice. This Hollow was too large. Even if his Asauchi struck its thinnest limb, he could not be certain it would cut through.

The blade bit in.

The Asauchi lodged in the bony leg with a dull sound, like chopping into wet wood. The Hollow's leg did not break, but it visibly bent. Black fluid seeped from the joint, releasing a sharp, foul stench.

The Hollow's eye turned toward him.

That wet human eye locked onto him with impossible speed.

Shendu did not retreat.

He pulled the Asauchi free from the leg. The blade was coated in black fluid, glinting with an eerie oily sheen in the dusk. He lowered his body, burst forward, and slashed upward at an angle, striking the same spot, the same wound, the same leg, at the same angle. There was not the slightest deviation.

This time, the leg broke.

The Hollow emitted a vibration of piercingly high frequency, like countless needles stabbing into their eardrums. Blood ran from Shendu's nose, but he did not wipe it away, did not even notice it. He had already moved to the Hollow's side, raised his Asauchi above his head, and brought it down upon the second leg.

He did not need Wuran's help.

He did not need anyone's help.

He only needed this Asauchi and the fire in his heart that could never be extinguished.

But Wuran still drew his blade and joined the fight.

The second leg broke. The third was nearly severed. The Hollow's body began to tilt, and confusion appeared in that eye. It could not understand why these two prey with such weak Reiatsu were clinging to it like mad dogs.

When the eighth leg was severed, the Hollow's body finally collapsed.