That afternoon, Kyōraku went to deliver documents as usual.
The corridor of Eighth Division is very long, and the setting sun cuts in diagonally from the west window pane, spreading strips of orange-red light on the floor. He holds a few reconnaissance reports that need to be signed by the captain, and his pace is neither fast nor slow. His mind is already thinking about what to do after delivering the documents. Should he go to the cafeteria tonight or buy something on the way back.
When Shunsui Kyōraku pushed open the door of the captain's office, he held the reconnaissance report of the East Seventh District armed group in his hand. Bakuzan Katori was sitting behind the desk, leaning sideways, holding her cheek with her right hand, looking out the window. Her glasses were placed squarely on the bridge of her nose, and the thick-framed lenses reflected a layer of pale golden light under the slanting light of the setting sun.
Kyōraku stood at the door, his heart skipping a beat.
This feeling comes without warning
He had seen Captain Katori many times at the Spiritual Arts Academy, and every time she wore these glasses, he never felt there was anything special.
Until this moment, the setting sun shone slantly in from the west window. The light passed through the edge of her lenses and refracted a very thin arc of light in the corners of her eyes. Her fingers holding her cheeks were slightly bent, and her little finger was raised in an inadvertent arc. The eyes behind the lenses were looking out the window, not knowing which direction they were looking. The pair of glasses covered her eyebrows, but made her profile lines appear more distinct under the outline of the frame.
Then she turned around. "Kyōraku Fifth Seat, what's the matter?"
She raised her hand from holding her cheek and pushed the frame of the mirror with her fingers.
Just with this movement, Kyōraku's Adam's apple moved. He suddenly felt that those glasses were very beautiful. Why had he never noticed them before?
Kyōraku immediately came to his senses. "... Captain, this is the reconnaissance report of the East Seventh District armed group."
He put the document on the corner of the table
Katori, picked up the report and started to flip through it. Her eyes moved from left to right behind the lenses, scanning the paper line by line, focused and quiet. Kyōraku watched her eyelashes blink up and down behind the lenses, and every blink was like plucking an invisible string.
She was probably tired of watching, so she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
The moment the frame left the bridge of her nose, Kyōraku's strange feeling suddenly disappeared. Her face was still the same, her eyebrows were still the same, but without the definition of the frame, her whole person became softer and blurred. She was no longer the woman who made his heart skip a beat just now, she was just a tired captain rubbing her eyes.
Katori put on her glasses again, pushed up the frame on the bridge of her nose, and the lenses covered her eyes again, filtering her gaze into a lukewarm temperature. Then she spoke, her voice clear and distant. "Kyōraku Fifth Seat, is there anything else?"
"No, captain, there are a lot of documents recently..." Kyōraku didn't know why he said this, probably because the reason in his mind was covering for him.
"It doesn't matter, just step back." Katori waved his hand and lowered his head to read the report again. The lenses reflected the sunset light outside the window.
Kyōraku turned around and left. When he reached the door, he paused and wanted to look back, but in the end he held back and closed the door gently.
In the evening, Kyōraku walked out of the team building, and the setting sun dyed the roof of Seireitei dark red.
He didn't live in the team building. He went home to live on his own. He was walking back to the Kyoraku Clan at a slower pace than usual. The pictures of those few seconds were still spinning in his mind. She cupped her chin and looked at the sunset in profile, she stretched out her palms toward him, and the light reflected from the lenses after she put on her glasses. These pictures were spinning in his mind all afternoon and he couldn't stop.
He walked through familiar streets, past the houses rebuilt after the war, past shops with lit lanterns, and past the place where he grew up. He had seen these scenes for more than ten years, and he never felt that they were any different from usual.
But today he felt that the color of the sunset was more beautiful than usual, and the light of the lantern was softer than usual. He knew that these things had not changed, it was him who had changed. He didn't know when he started to notice Captain Katori, and he didn't know if this feeling only happened today or if he had it for a long time and only realized it today.
He remembered that she was in the gym, with the naginata lying in front of her, the air surging around her, and the invisible slashing range that made all opponents retreat. That was the first time he saw her fighting power. Like all bystanders, he only noticed the naginata that could crush nine people into pieces. He never thought that the woman who was like a storm on the battlefield would take off her glasses in the office at three o'clock in the afternoon, hold her cheeks and watch the sunset, the joints of her fingers turning slightly red.
He returned home, pushed open the courtyard door, walked through the courtyard, and walked into his room. He hung Zanpakutō on the knife rest at the head of the bed, lay down on the bed, put his hands behind his head, and looked at the ceiling.
The ceiling was still the same ceiling. He had seen it for more than ten years. When he looked at it today, he felt that it was different from usual. He turned over and closed his eyes. The picture of those few seconds was still in his mind. He knew that he would see her again when he went to the team building tomorrow. She would wear glasses and sit behind the desk to approve documents. He would send reports, receive replies, and sit back in his seat to sort out information as usual. Everything would be as usual.
Except him.