Finding that which is Needed

Previous Story > Means to an End.

When Kusaka had said that he’d be hard on them and that they wouldn’t be getting any special treatment because of their blood relation he wasn’t lying. Not in the slightest. What he’d said had been pretty spot on. Maybe some young and foolish part in Itazura’s mind doubted his words, but one thing was sure: he was absolutely and utterly wreaked in every manner possible. A week had passed and thus far it had been the most brutal week of Itazura’s entire life. There wasn’t a morning that went by that he wasn’t in utter agony and the longer his exercises lasted the more pain he felt. Even now his shoulders ached so much he could barely bring himself to lie on his back. Not that he could lie on his side or stomach either. They hurt too. Even his bruises had bruises! And his feet! They were killing him. You’d have thought he’d walked until his soles bled, then healed poorly and then told to do the same all over again. His thighs screamed with every step he took, his arms were akin to heavy lead weights and his shoulders were so stiff he could barely bend his back without wincing. Mariko wasn’t fairing much better. During the first three days she had attempted to do what she normally did to Kusaka: play prank after prank on him. She learned quickly that her attempts were draining her more than him and that her efforts were better spent focusing on training rather than childish pranks.

On the third day they’d been tasked with forming a full Shakkahō spell with Sojiro looking on to appraise their efforts. Kusaka had been called away suddenly by Tadashi, meaning that Sojiro was in charge. Not as demanding as Kusaka by any stretch, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. Sojiro was the type who liked detailed explanations over simple physical demonstrations. He spoke in a constantly changing tone that easily conveyed his feelings. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose? His tone never betrayed his emotions in normal situations. If he was disappointed in their shared progress then his tone reflected that. The same was true with his happiness when they done what had been tasked of them. They hadn’t succeeded that day. Kireina later revealed to them that night that the test was made difficult on purpose. The true task was to use the highest level spell they could depending on their circumstances. The glove each sibling wore made it difficult drawing upon the slightest trickle of spiritual power; which meant that using any form of Kidō was equally difficult - with some impossible. That was especially true for academy students not fully grown into their powers, which Itazura and Mariko essentially were, albeit it experienced students thanks to a combination of Garian Shinjo and Tedasuke Shiba. Before the night drew to a close Itazura only managed Hadō #11: Tsuzuri Raiden – one of his staples, while Mariko managed Hadō #13: Yūsetsu. The fact he’d got to that spell at all was a constant source of pleasure for him. It was that spell that had allowed him to thoroughly surprise Raiden’s brother and ultimately create the opening which allowed him to end his life.

The fifth day had been the worst of the seven so far. Armed with wooden practice swords Kusaka had sparred continually with them both. It hadn’t helped Itazura’s ego any that Kusaka required the barest amount of effort to squash their attempts at reaching him. He struck silently and without comment, leaving Sojiro to shout instructions from the sidelines. He hadn’t hesitated when it came to rapping them with that piece of wood either. Stand firm Sojiro would shout. Dodge to the right or left depending on the need would follow. Sometimes he’d shout false advice, just to prevent them relying upon his advice too much. Kireina, who’d established herself as the explainer of things this week, told them the test was designed to show one thing: help during battle was nice, but at the end of the day, all you can really rely on are your own instincts On your own skills. Itazura and Mariko accumulated more bruises in that one three-hour lesson than they had in any of the four days before it and the two that followed it. The only thing that actually allowed them to sleep at all was the balm Kireina rubbed into their joints every evening, which brought some minor relief from their shared discomforts. Not that that helped Itazura’s shoulders any. His joints still felt like they were on fire.

‘You still awake?’ Itazura asked Mariko on the eve of their seventh night. Darkness had fallen two hours before and the moon was hidden behind clouds.

There was a chill to the air that could be felt through the moss-laden walls of Maki Zhijun’s quaint shack. It made sleeping difficult because the wind was constantly rippling his bed sheets which, of course, did little to appease the discomfort of his various aches and pains. His shoulder blades were on fire, his thighs throbbed and his head felt like someone was using it as a drum. They weren’t being too gentle with their beatings either. The headache he knew came from the concentration. He’d never focused so much on a single fact in his entire life as he’d done in the last seven days. Trying to channel spiritual energy with that accursed glove on his arm – it was still there! – was like trying to move Garian in a training session. The man was like a mountain of muscle and as close to as unmovable as you’d likely find. That’s how he felt right now.

‘Yes,’ the pained reply from Mariko came.

She’d pushed herself harder than Itazura had this last week. His anger at his own inability to do the task allocated him made his focus waver, his concentration stray. Mariko was different. She could block things like doubt and pain and expectation out, maintaining her calm and ultimately succeeding in summoning that trickle of energy as was asked of her. It came down to focus and she’d always been better at that than he. It was the traits she’d inherited from their mother that was truly beginning to shine through now. Yukimura could do the same. How else could she life with Shin, operating the Squad while he slept and gambled to his hearts content? Mariko had also reached for more than just a small trickle, succeeding in drawing bit-by-bit in small pieces. Sojiro even admitted that her progress was impressive. For a while Itazura had even been jealous of his sister, but that was now a discarded notion. What was there to be jealous of?

‘Who could sleep with that wind?’ Kusaka could. So could Sojiro. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘What about,’ the rustling of her bed sheets told him she’d turned around to face him. She was propped up on one elbow, blue eyes sparkling inquisitively, thin light-blue bedclothes rippling slightly in the wind around her lithe frame.

‘A lot of things,’ where should he start? He’d mostly accepted that it wasn’t his fault that Mariko had been injured, so it wasn’t that thought that was gnawing at him. The training was painful and difficult, but that made it rewarding. He left each day behind with a sense of achievement welling up within that gave him more energy to face the next challenge. He was proud of his successes so far and his mistakes as well, because he learned from them and turned those past failures into future successes. So it wasn’t that either. ‘It’s what Rosa said to me, particularly. She told me that I’m looking at the world through childish eyes.’ It had taken him a while to understand the depth of her words. ‘And she’s right. I do.’ He stared at his hands which shook from the weeks exertions. She’d stood there so calm, so collected. Like royalty going for a morning walk around her kingdom, ensuring her subjects where all well and letting herself be seen. She had been graceful and commanding. It was as though she had glided when she merely walked. And she’d looked right into the core of his being and picked out one of his greatest weaknesses. He was just thankful she hadn’t noted his first and truly crippling weakness: Mariko. ‘It’s amazing how an assassin I’ve met only once knows me better than I know myself, right?’

‘Does someone have a crush?’ Oh great, she was poking him with her elbow whilst grinning like a madwoman.

‘No I do not,’ he rolled his eyes. It was like talking with uncle Shin. ‘And you’re not exactly one to talk, Mrs. I fancy Hei.’ That shut her up. Heiwajima was always a subject that made Mariko go close-mouthed. ‘Zura 1: Mariko: 0,’ that earned him a light punch on the arm that hurt more than it should have. His arms where still like lead weights. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry!’ But they laughed regardless, happy they could still rely on one another to take their minds off their troubles.

‘But seriously,’ he continued while fending off her inquisitive glances and poking elbow. ‘I do give people the benefit of the doubt, don’t I? Even when their actions have made it clear they don’t deserve it. When I saw you injured-’ the mood in the room changed instantly ‘-I still held some lingering doubts about his intentions – about his character. I don’t know why.’

‘… So what are you going to do?’ She’d stopped the ceaseless elbowing and now regarded her brother with a calm and cool expression. It was like Yukimura had stepped into the room and taken her daughter’s place. ‘Changing what makes you… well you overnight won’t be easy.’

‘I know,’ and he clenched those trembling hands of his into tight fists, the glove on his left making a slight crunching sound in his sudden grip. ‘But it needs to be done, Mariko. As I am right now, I’m way too trusting and too soft-hearted. I don’t plan on becoming a cold and ruthless bastard; far from it. But I won’t allow myself to be duped any longer.’ He raided his fist so it was level with his face, as though he were making a vow upon it. ‘I’ll meet many in this life who’ll use me because of my trusting nature and then cast me aside once I’ve fulfilled whatever purpose asked of me. I’ve been lead astray before.’

That was putting it lightly. Before he’d volunteered to hunt Raiden on his family’s behalf the lieutenant had sown seeds of falsehood in Itazura’s mind that had led him down a path of involuntary espionage on Raiden’s behalf. Only Shin’s quick wit saved him from causing lasting damage. The truly sad thing was that Itazura couldn’t bring himself to doubt the lieutenant’s character afterwards – not until he watched him closely for two months following.

‘But I’ll be lead astray no more.’ This time it was a vow. ‘I’ll do what needs to be done, whether it’s right or not. I’ll stop acting like a child and more like a man… otherwise I risk losing everything I hold dear.’ It was the most mature thing Itazura had ever said in all his life even if he didn’t fully understand the implications of his vow. His piece said the siblings rolled over to sleep but it was a while before Itazura gave himself over to the world or dreams…

‘They’ve grown,’ Kireina said in a quiet whisper.

She and Kusaka where in the living room seated before the fireplace which burned with welcoming warmth. They’d heard everything through the wall. The wind was rough sure, but it wasn’t that rough that it muffled sound passing through thin wooden walls. Just how did Maki sleep in this dump?

‘What were you expecting? They’re my cousins.’ Kusaka claimed proudly, chest puffed out. ‘Most importantly though… he passed the test.’ Kireina cocked an eyebrow at this. ‘Mariko never had any trouble seeing a person’s character. It was like she could read their minds. Itazura, on the other hand… not so much. Now he finally realizes that doubt isn’t what’s needed in this life. He’s finally found his resolve.’ Meaning that his advancement now would be nothing short of explosive. Inside Kusaka beamed.

The wind that blew through the hill settlement of Hirukoya in the far north of Rukongai was both chill and penetrating. The gales that blew sliced through clothing like it wasn’t there at all, mocking any and all attempts made at warding it off. The distant nature of the inhabitants didn’t lend any warmth to the area either. The residents of Hirukoya were used to handling things themselves in their own way. They despised outsiders and only conversed with them when the notion was absolutely unavoidable. Even then they said little. It was the reason Raiden Yasuhiro stood in the centre of the shanties these souls called homes. But he wasn’t alone. His father had sent him a tool which Raiden intended to put to good use. After all he was good at using others and getting them to trust him: Except Shin Nagakura of course. He was as untrusting of him as one could possibly get and it seemed that that untrust was beginning to rub off on Tadashi and his family, as well. He hadn’t seen his pursuers face yet, but he had a number of theories. Tedasuke Shiba topped his list of suspects, but Itazura and Mariko Kori were on it as well. But then their skills weren’t advanced enough to kill his brother, even if they had gotten the drop on him. That left Tedasuke again atop his list. Maybe his new tool could rid him of that troublesome oaf?

‘I was told to report to an idiot with turquoise hair. I take it that you are he?’ Already Raiden wanted to kill him. In fact, when he succeeded in killing Tedasuke this smartass would follow suit. That just left one question: why hadn't he sensed his coming?

‘How very drawl,’ Raiden said instead. ‘You’re a filthy sell-sword who has a smart mouth? You don’t find that very often.’

The sell-sword was little more than a child, but that was apparently part of the ploy. He’d sneak in feigning childish helplessness then strike when his targets guard was down. So he was devious, probably cold and ruthless too. He was a boy who could pose to be a future problem. Hailing from Heisekai his tanned skin would stand out clearly in the Seireitei to anyone with the eye to pick out such things. One such was Shin. Yes, he’d need to stay away from the 7th Divisions Barracks. He was lithe of build yet lined with hard muscle sometimes made visible by the wind assaulting his black cloak. Cyan hair was barely visible below a black hood and a zanpakutō was threaded through at his waist. Purples eyes stared out from beneath the hood, sending a chill up Raiden’s back. He’d definitely be a formidable enemy given time. It might even be better to dispose of him now…

‘That’s not a good idea,’ the boy said, taking a ready stance.

Could he read minds? Or maybe he could read body language like Tadashi could? Regardless, Raiden took greater care keeping his tells hidden. ‘Good. You do have a backbone.’ Better disguise the fact as a test for now. ‘You’ll need it for this task. I need a certain Shinigami dead. His name is Tedasuke Shiba. He’s the 3rd Seat of the 11th Division and my direct subordinate. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure and do it quickly, boy.’

‘Very well,’ the boy replied. ‘For future reference though…’ and his hand whipped blade free of its sheath, the tip touching Raiden’s throat, ‘… don’t ever call me “boy” again. My name is Kenshiro Hatake. Remember that, Shinigami, or it’ll be your head I take.’

The only thing Kenshiro’s actions had done, other than convincing Raiden he had no manners whatsoever, was that this rebellious sell-sword would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Preferably in a manner that would be most painful to the arrogant foreigner. Yes, that would be a fitting end. Plotting his latest tools downfall, Raiden flash stepped away, a trickle of blood dropping from his throat…

Next Story > Igniting Sparks.