Sword Meditation

Two years...

Shuichi had lost count of how many candles he had burned down and how many stones he had filled.

Those stones had grown from fist-sized to head-sized, then from head-sized to millstone-sized. Finally, Yamamoto had brought in a boulder half as tall as a man from who knew where and set it in a corner of the courtyard.

"Fill it," Yamamoto said.

It took Shuichi three months.

Every day for those three months, he arrived at the courtyard at dawn, pressed his palm against the boulder, and let his Reiatsu flow into it like a stream.

One day, two days. One month, two months.

The stone went from cold to warm, then from warm to scorching. At last, one morning, it flashed briefly before going dark and returning to its original gray.

After that, Yamamoto never gave him another stone.

"You no longer need to practice Reiatsu control." Yamamoto said it in exactly the same tone he had used to say "Continue" two years ago, as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

Shuichi stood in the middle of the courtyard, still holding the stone, now warm to the touch. He felt dazed.

I don't need to practice anymore?

For two years, he had worked with stones and candles every morning without missing a day.

It had become part of his life, as natural as breathing or eating. Now that he had suddenly been told he no longer needed to do it, he had no idea what to do instead.

"What do I learn next?" he asked.

Yamamoto glanced at him.

"Sword Meditation."

Sword Meditation.

Shuichi first heard the term in Yamamoto's study.

The study was not large, but it ran deep. Bookshelves covered three walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with books and bamboo scrolls. The air smelled of ink and old paper, and a weighty stillness filled the room, as though time passed more slowly there.

Yamamoto sat behind his desk with an ancient bamboo scroll spread before him.

"Sword Meditation is the method by which a Soul Reaper speaks with his Zanpakutō."

He said, "You've been in sync with this Asauchi for two years, but you haven't formed a true connection with it."

Shuichi looked down at the Zanpakutō at his waist. In two years, it had changed from a rust-covered Asauchi into a Zanpakutō with a gleaming blade. But it had never spoken to him. He had never heard its voice in his mind or seen its form, as other Soul Reapers described.

"Your Reiatsu is stable enough now."

Yamamoto continued, "Your Zan-Sō-Haku-Ki has also reached a passable level. Now you need to learn to listen."

He pushed the bamboo scroll toward Shuichi.

Only four characters were written on it.

"Enter stillness through Sword Meditation."

"The first step in Sword Meditation is entering stillness," Yamamoto said. "This isn't ordinary seated meditation. You must sink your awareness into the deepest reaches of your Reiatsu and find your Zanpakutō. It's waiting there for you, but you must find it yourself."

Shuichi stared at the four characters and fell silent for a moment.

"How long will it take?"

Yamamoto did not answer. He merely lifted his teacup and took a sip.

Shuichi understood. There was no answer to that question.

From that day on, Shuichi's lessons changed.

There were no more stones or candles in the morning. Instead, he went to Yamamoto's study at dawn each day, sat cross-legged before the desk with his Zanpakutō across his knees, and closed his eyes.

Enter stillness.

On the first day, he sat for two hours.

His mind was full of stray thoughts: the Flash Step Chōjirō Sasakibe had taught him, the flash of Unohana's blade, and the stone he had filled. He tried to focus on his sword, but every time he became aware of the hilt beneath his hands, his thoughts drifted away.

The second day was the same.

The third, fourth, and fifth days followed.

A week passed, and he felt nothing. The sword remained a sword, quiet and silent, offering neither voice nor response.

The second week.

He began to learn to control his breathing. When Chōjirō Sasakibe taught him Zanjutsu, he had said, "Breathing sets the rhythm of a strike." Only now did Shuichi realize it also set the rhythm for entering stillness.

Inhale, drawing the breath down into the lower abdomen.

Exhale, letting stray thoughts go with it. Breath by breath, his awareness slowly sank like a stone descending to the bottom of a lake.

But when he reached the bottom, he did not find his sword.

There was only darkness, still and boundless.

The third week.

He asked Yamamoto about it.

"I've sunk down, but there's nothing there."

Yamamoto was reviewing official documents. He did not look up.

"Continue."

The fourth week.

The fifth week.

The sixth week.

Every day at dawn, Shuichi came to the study, sat cross-legged with his sword across his knees, and closed his eyes. He would sit there all morning. Sometimes Yamamoto was present, sometimes he was not, but Shuichi remained there regardless, as motionless as a clay statue.

Two months passed.

Shuichi sat in the study with his Zanpakutō across his knees, breathing steadily as his awareness sank into the darkness.

He had spent so long in the darkness that he had almost forgotten what light looked like. Yet he had still found nothing.

He began to wonder whether there was no "voice" in his sword at all. Had he never fully synchronized with the Asauchi? Was he simply not cut out to be a Soul Reaper?

"Stray thoughts."

Yamamoto's voice came from far away, like a stone striking water.

Shuichi's eyes flew open. His heart pounded, and his breathing turned ragged.

"I..."

"Sword Meditation isn't Reiatsu control. Reiatsu control makes your Reiatsu stable. Sword Meditation clears your mind."

Yamamoto rose and walked to the window. "Your Reiatsu is already clear, but your mind isn't. You've spent two months in the darkness because you've been trying to 'find' something."

Shuichi froze.

"Trying to find it... Is that wrong?"

"Yes."

Yamamoto turned to face him. "You don't 'find' your sword. You 'wait' for it."

Shuichi did not understand.

Yamamoto offered no further explanation. He simply sat down behind the desk again and picked up his teacup.

"Continue."

The third month.

Shuichi stopped trying to "find" anything.

He sat in the darkness without looking around or expecting anything.

He simply sat, breathed, and waited.

The darkness was still darkness. There was no voice, no light, nothing at all.

But he was no longer impatient.

It had taken him two months to realize he had been impatient all along.

He had been desperate to find his sword, desperate to hear its voice, desperate to complete Sword Meditation. But that impatience was itself a wall separating him from his sword.

Now the wall had fallen.

Nothing had changed. The darkness was still dark, the silence still silent. But he no longer sat there as someone groping through the dark. He sat there as someone resting in it.

One day in the fourth month—

Shuichi could not remember which day it was. He only remembered how lovely the morning sunlight had been, shining through the study's paper windows and bathing the whole room in pale gold.

He sat cross-legged, laid his sword across his knees, and closed his eyes.

Breathe.

Sink.

Darkness.

Silence.

Just like every other day.

At some point, Yamamoto appeared in the doorway.

"You've taken your first step in Sword Meditation."

Shuichi looked up.

"My first step?"

Yamamoto did not answer.

He came in and sat down before the desk.

"There is no end to Sword Meditation," he said.

He paused.

"What comes next is for you to discover yourself."

Shuichi sheathed his sword and rested it across his knees.

"So what does that make me now? Have I graduated?"

Yamamoto glanced at him.

"There is nothing more I need to teach you about Reiatsu control. Chōjirō Sasakibe says your Zan-Sō-Haku-Ki has reached graduation level. And you've taken your first step in Sword Meditation."

He lifted his teacup and took a sip.

"Apart from a few secret techniques, this old man has nothing left to teach you."

Shuichi froze.

Nothing left to teach me?

Two years.

From a drifter in Rukongai to hearing Captain-Commander Yamamoto say those words. Shuichi had thought he would be happy, that he would feel relieved, that he would feel he had finally "arrived."

But he did not.

He felt only calm, as if he had reached the end of a road and now stood at a crossroads, unsure which way to go.

"So what am I now?" he asked. "A full-fledged Soul Reaper?"

"A trainee." Yamamoto set down his teacup.

"But you can apply to take the Soul Reaper qualification exam. Once you pass, you'll be assigned to a division and become a full-fledged Soul Reaper."

Shuichi was silent for a moment.

"Can I stay in the First Division?"

Yamamoto looked at him steadily.

"You want to stay in the First Division?"

"I..."

Shuichi lowered his head and looked at the Zanpakutō on his knees. "I've been here for two years. I came here knowing nothing, and I learned Reiatsu control, Zan-Sō-Haku-Ki, and Sword Meditation. Captain-Commander, Lieutenant Chōjirō Sasakibe, Captain Unohana... You've all taught me so much. I..."

He could not finish. He did not know how to express the feeling that this was where he belonged.

Yamamoto remained silent for a long time.

"The First Division doesn't take trainees," he said.

"But once you pass the qualification exam, you can apply. I won't object."

Shuichi raised his head and looked at the old man's face.

That stern face still held its familiar, quietly commanding calm. But Shuichi thought he saw something soften, just a little, in Yamamoto's eyes.

"Thank you, Captain-Commander."

Yamamoto did not answer. He rose, walked to the window, and turned his back to Shuichi.

That afternoon, Shuichi went to the Genji School to find Chōjirō Sasakibe.

Chōjirō Sasakibe was in the courtyard teaching Zanjutsu to several new students. When he saw Shuichi, he told them to practice on their own and came over.

"I hear your lessons are finished?" he asked.

"Yes. The Captain-Commander said that apart from a few secret techniques, he has nothing left to teach me."

Chōjirō Sasakibe nodded. His expression remained calm, but Shuichi noticed the slight lift at the corners of his mouth.

"Then show me your Zan-Sō-Haku-Ki."

Shuichi drew his sword.

Two years ago, he could not even perform a Straight Cut properly. Now his blade sprang from its sheath with a crisp, brief note like a birdcall.

He performed a Straight Cut, bringing the sword down from above his head along his centerline. His footwork, the turn of his waist, his wrist, the angle of the blade—every detail was as precise as if measured with a ruler.

Then came a side cut, a reverse diagonal cut, a thrust, and a flurry of strikes. His blade traced arc after arc through the courtyard. Every cut was clean and decisive, without a wasted movement.

Chōjirō Sasakibe watched him in silence for a long time.

"That's enough," he said.

Shuichi sheathed his sword.

"Flash Step."

Reiatsu burst beneath Shuichi's feet, and he vanished. In the next instant, he appeared at the far end of the courtyard. An instant later, he was back before Chōjirō Sasakibe. Only a single breath had passed.

"Hakuda."

He walked up to a wooden post and clenched his fist, concentrating Reiatsu across his knuckles. He released it at the moment of impact. Crack! A deep fist mark appeared in the post.

Then came elbow strikes, knee strikes, and kicks. Every movement was crisp and clean, every release of Reiatsu precise to the smallest degree.

"Kidō."

He held out his hand.

"Ruler! Mask of flesh and blood, all creation, flutter of wings, you who bear the name of man! Scorching heat and strife, the sea rolls back toward the south, march forward! Hadō #31: Shakkahō!"

For the first time in two years, he recited the full incantation before Chōjirō Sasakibe. The words flowed from his mouth, not from memory, but as though they had grown naturally from his Reiatsu. Every syllable resonated with it. Air gathered in his palm, compressed, and began to spin.

A crimson fireball shot from his hand, crossed the courtyard, and struck the distant target dead center.

Boom!

The target exploded—not merely splintered, but exploded. Fragments flew more than ten paces, and the smell of burning filled the air.

Chōjirō Sasakibe stared at the debris for a long time without speaking.

Then he turned to Shuichi.

"You've graduated."

His voice was calm, but Shuichi noticed the brightness in his eyes.

Chōjirō Sasakibe reached out and patted Shuichi on the shoulder.

"You did well."

Shuichi lowered his head.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Sasakibe."

Chōjirō Sasakibe shook his head.

"Don't thank me. You did this yourself."