Recruitment

First Division Captain-Commander's Office

As Chojiro Sasakibe placed the recruitment brochure on Yamamoto's desk, sunlight streamed in through the window and fell across the five characters for "Shin'ō Academy." Yamamoto had written them himself. They had been mounted before the ink had even dried, and now they had been reproduced on the brochures, every stroke square and upright as though carved into place.

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

"Not going smoothly?"

Sasakibe did not deny it.

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

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

There were slightly more on the second day, but the total still did not reach a hundred.

"Most are from Districts One through Ten."

Sasakibe said, "There are very few from beyond District Eleven. Some people from beyond District Thirty have walked 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 are not sure whether it is a trap."

Yamamoto was silent for a moment. "The nobles are all waiting to see?"

"Yes."

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

He said, "Do not press them. Do not persuade them. The same goes for the nobles. They will come."

Sasakibe nodded. "Yes."

The nobles truly were waiting to see.

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

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

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

No one answered. The man continued, "If we do not, then the Seireitei's future guard forces will all be people from Rukongai. What will the nobles use to protect themselves?"

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

Outside the window, dusk hung heavy.

Meanwhile, changes were quietly taking place in Rukongai.

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

Several young people who had registered in North District Five had been arranged by the First Division to stay in temporary housing on the outer ring of the Seireitei. There were beds and hot meals. No one made them work, nor did anyone force them to sign anything. The First Division member receiving them had merely said, "Stay here until school begins. Do not wander around," then left.

He left.

There were no guards, no locked doors, and nothing had been confiscated.

One of the young men secretly slipped out in the middle of the night, wanting to see whether no one truly cared. He walked around that section of the Seireitei and discovered that every registered person lived in the same kind of house. 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 told the people sharing his room, "Is it real? Is it really not a trap?"

But the news 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 registration point in North District Three. He carried a tattered bundle on his back, his shoes worn through, his feet covered in bloody blisters. The First Division member handling registration asked how he had learned he could register here.

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

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

By the tenth day, the four registration points had recorded over three hundred applicants in total.

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

On the nobles' side, however, no one had registered yet.

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 family name.

After reading the report, Yamamoto set it aside. "That is about enough. Recruit four hundred."

And the nobles? Still none.

North 67th District of Rukongai.

Shendu Wuming crouched before a house that had collapsed halfway.

Wuran stood several steps behind him.

The two stood 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 clenched in his hand as a cane; a woman holding a child as skinny as a cat in her arms; and an armless man sitting on the threshold, staring blankly into the empty courtyard with no expression at all.

Everyone else had left.

They had not said hello or goodbye when they left. They had not even looked back. At some dawn or in the dead of night, they had simply packed up the few belongings they possessed and slipped away, silent and unnoticed, like water seeping into sand.

"Shen Du."

Wuran spoke, his voice low, as if afraid of disturbing something. "That Shin'ō Academy in the Seireitei is recruiting people."

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

"They are recruiting everyone with spiritual power."

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

Shen Du's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.

"So that is why they left?"

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

"People who finally managed to gather together, all gone! Leaving only—"

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

"Only these people."

Wuran said softly, "Maybe once they have recruited enough people, those wandering souls with spiritual power will come back."

Shen Du did not respond.

He was not listening at all.

His eyes were fixed on some distant point south beyond the courtyard wall, in the direction of the Seireitei.

Something churned within him.

"Shen Du."

Wuran's first call received no response.

"Shen Du!"

At last, Shen Du moved. He lowered his eyes and looked at the Asauchi in his hand. The cracks in its blade resembled wounds beneath the sunlight, deep and dark.

"Damn Soul Reapers!"

He did not roar. His voice was not loud, but every word seemed squeezed through clenched teeth, carrying hatred fierce enough to shatter them.

"Damn nobles!"

Wuran said nothing.

He did not know what to say. He had seen Soul Reapers—seen them from afar, clad in black Reishi Garments, Zanpakutō in gleaming scabbards at their waists, walking without so much as glancing aside, as though the people of Rukongai did not exist.

He had also seen nobles, those who emerged from the Seireitei in splendid clothes. They never looked directly at the people of Rukongai, as if even the air carried Rukongai's stench.

He had no right to refute Shen Du.

But he also knew hatred could not solve anything.

The old man in the courtyard coughed.

The armless man remained seated on the threshold, unmoving.

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

Shen Du turned toward him.

The man did not look back. He merely gazed into the air, as though speaking to someone who was not there.

"There is nothing here. No food, no water, not even a proper house. They left, and at least they have somewhere to live and a hot meal to eat. As for what happens later..."

At last, he lifted his eyes and looked at Shen Du.

"We will talk about later when it comes."

Shen Du's lips moved, but no words came out.

He wanted to say: They have been tricked. The people of the Seireitei will not treat them sincerely. Once they realize they have been fooled, they will not even be able to come back.

But he had no proof.

He was simply angry—angry at the Soul Reapers, angry at the nobles, angry at this world that treated the people of Rukongai like garbage.

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

Wuran walked over to him, crouched down, and met his gaze.

"Shen Du."

Shen Du did not look at him.

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

Shen Du's fingers twitched.

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

At last, Shen Du raised his head and looked at Wuran.

The murkiness in his eyes faded slightly. He could still see.

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

"Come on."

He said, "Let us see whether anyone is still willing to stay. Even one or two is enough. Start with what we can do."

Shen Du was silent for a long time.

Then he stood and slid the Asauchi back into his belt.

"Let's go."

As the sun set, they passed a small settlement.

A strange Reiatsu suddenly appeared.

Wuran reacted first.

His fingers were already resting on the hilt of his Asauchi. "A Hollow!"

Before his words had even fallen, Shen Du had already charged out.

He drew his Asauchi as he ran.

They hurried after Shen Du in the direction he had rushed.

In the ruins beyond the courtyard wall—

Shen Du 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 pale, bone-like structures. Its body was an irregular sphere covered in cracks of different sizes. Each crack opened and closed faintly like a silent screaming mouth. Its face grew where it should not have grown: in the hollow between several legs was an eye, not the sort of eye that belonged on a Hollow's mask, but a real human eye—wet, bloodshot, and alive.

That eye was looking toward the courtyard.

Shen Du did not give it the chance to keep looking.

He cut in from the side, swinging the Asauchi horizontally. The blade whistled through the air as it slashed at the thinnest leg. It was not because he had chosen that leg; he simply had no choice. This Hollow was too large. Even if the Asauchi in his hand struck its thinnest limb, he could not be certain it would cut through.

The blade sank 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 bent noticeably. Black fluid seeped from its joint, releasing a sharp, foul stench.

The Hollow's eye turned toward him.

That wet human eye locked onto him with impossible speed.

Shen Du did not retreat.

He pulled the Asauchi free from the leg. Its blade was smeared with black fluid, glinting with an eerie oily sheen in the twilight. He lowered his body, lunged forward, and swung upward with the blade, 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 released a vibration of piercingly high frequency, as if countless needles had stabbed into their eardrums at once. Blood ran from Shen Du's nose, but he did not cover it. He did not even notice. He had already moved to the Hollow's side, raising the Asauchi over his head before chopping down at the second leg.

He did not need Wuran's help.

He did not need anyone's help.

All he needed was this Asauchi and the fire in his heart that no amount of water could extinguish.

But Wuran still drew his sword to assist.

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 clung to it like mad dogs and refused to let go.

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