Blade without Edge/Chapter Three

Chapter Three The Proposition In the public eye, the Hōsōshi seemed to be unaffected by the death of Wakiya. From the intensified cold stare and arrogance, they felt as if her life had meant nothing to him. Perhaps it was true that the Shinigami, from a noble house, only saw those around him as a sacrificial pawns, and specifically used to save himself. Yet, there was one that could see the barely concealed dark shadows beneath the heterochromatic eyes: Shibata. He knew there was much more to the smaller Shinigami. But, as he had witnessed the death of Wakiya, and thus the killer, Shibata avoided Kishō like a plague. Nor was it something that concerned the Hōsōshi clansman. After all, his nights only became worse and worse. He could hear her confused voice… it begged him to undo what could not be undone.

He did not receive a wink of sleep.

Instead, Kishō confined himself in the dojo of the Sixth Division late at night. Every night, since her death. In a certain sense, he felt at peace with himself. It wasn’t as if the walks towards the dojo with a crispy breeze soothed his shattered mind: allowing him to properly comprehend his situation and reflect on them. Of course, something that wasn’t pretty to think about.

For once, Kishō paused in his steps towards the dojo. The past few days he had hurried to avoid being caught by any observing eyes around him. Yet, the Hōsōshi could not resist the beautiful clear night, one with the stars burning at distant points in the thick canvas of the deep black that was the sky. But… the moon, sleepy silver sliver, was fascinating him, and the wind in the trees whisper a lullaby to him.

This is all what he wanted now, but, then Kishō recalled the most recent event.

Calm and deserted, the dojo that Kishō entered was restricted to the noble members of the Sixth division. It was older and smaller than the division’s main training hall, and for this reason it was usually unused. While it may have been discrete from the outside, none could complain about the interior which was traditional in style: a long, narrow room with dark, smooth wooden flooring that reflected shafts of pale light that diffused through the shoji. The entire room was cloaked in shadow, the small shrine in the corner being particularly covered, with only the kanji on the banner on the wall visible in the darkness.

Resolution.

Slender fingers reached out to the shōji, pushing it aside, allowing him to escape the slightly cold air. He removed his waraji immediately, placing them neatly on the floor of the entryway before stepping up into the dojo. As he moved closer in the centre of the dojo, Kishō fidgeted with the daishō pair that rested on his side, and, came to a stop near one of the walls. The stare intensified on the wakizashi after having placed the katana against the wall. His grip tightened around its hilt, hate scorned deeply within him. He didn't understand it.

Rather, Kishō didn't want to understand the Zanpakutō's reasons.

He treated the wakizashi differently. He allowed it to slip past his fingers, there was no gentleness. Abruptly, Kishō turned away from his Zanpakutō, retreating back towards a different room. It was the equipment room, where his weapon of choice for his current state was stored: the bokutō. Having it hidden, as he didn’t want others to use his property, Kishō knew its placement right away.

It didn’t take long for him to return to the main training room of the dojo. As his usual routine, Kishō opted to take his place at the centre of the room. He could hear the faint whispers of the Zanpakutō, something that the Shinigami endured more these past few days, yet, continued to ignore them.

And as he sat down on the floor, Kishō placed his bokutō in front of him. He curled his fingers, the tips of the fingers touched the inside of his palm, while the thumbs rests against the side of the point fingers. In the meanwhile, his proximal phalanges of both hands rest against each other, as well as his wrists, which causes a hollow shape in the open gap: appearing as a diamond figure. With the preparation complete, Kishō could now begin his meditation. He closed his eyes, allowing him to concentrate on the flow of his reiatsu. Falling into a certain deep trance, all sounds became non-existent to him.

No more haunting whispers, there was only silence.



Disrupting the quiet stillness of the night, a hawk flew from its former perch in the tangled branches of a tall, slender elm just outside of the dōjō and glided silently into the night sky. It had hidden itself in Kishō’s shadow ever since he had left his quarters a short time before, and had observed him with a keen, predator’s stare as he had made his way to his furtive destination. Of course, if Kishō had seen it, there was no doubt that he would have recognized it instantly. But the hawk’s Reiatsu had been well-concealed, and it seemed as though its presence had entirely escaped Kishō’s notice.

Now, the raptor soared above the grounds of the Sixth Division, carving out a few large circles before turning steeply back towards earth. It moved quickly enough to where the untrained eye could not easily follow its path, and at last it came to land at the quarters of the division’s lieutenant.

Takashi did not at once move when the hawk found its place on his shoulder. As usual he felt a sense of disorientation as the utter weightlessness of flight fell away from him and gravity once more took its hold. It took some time for the Aka no Tsume to regain control of the hawk’s mind, and as Takashi slowly returned to his own body he felt a small, acidic sense of guilt take root in his heart.

While it had been one thing to ask Shibata about Kishō’s daily routine and typical movements, it was quite another to use Tsubasa Shoji in order to spy on him without anyone else’s knowledge. Considering how serious the situation was it could be excused, but Takashi was keenly aware of the sharp similarity between his current actions and those he had been forced to take during his service in the second division. It felt, in a way, as though he were betraying himself, and his own dishonesty began to eat away at his conscience.

But he pushed the feeling aside and opened his eyes, straightening out his spine as he once more became aware of the world around him. The small oil lamp on the floor beside him still shone brightly, casting withering shadows across the wall, and the wick in the bowl was long. It seemed only a quarter of an hour had passed since he had transferred his consciousness to the body of the hawk, and he frowned as he considered what he would do next.

Are you going to follow him? Kohaku, finally returned to her normal state as well, asked.

Takashi did not reply at once. He lifted his eyes from staring blankly ahead to the elegant kimono that hung on the wall in front of him. The deep-reddish brown of the finely-woven fabric seemed even darker in the dim light, and the thin, gold trim of the sleeves caught the gleam of the dancing flames, shining softly. An unnamed expression crossed his face, as though his wandering mind had stumbled across some painful thread of reminiscence.

He stood up abruptly and took his Zanpakutō in hand. He was not proud. He could not be proud. But in the end it was a matter of necessity, not integrity.

As he crossed the length of the division’s grounds, however, his steps seemed heavier and more brisk than usual. Kohaku remained silent as he approached the dōjō with a stealthy, habitual precision. He slid the door open soundlessly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. Kishō was seated in the center of the hall, and Takashi hesitated slightly before removing his shoes and entering the dōjō himself.

Kishō’s Zanpakutō rested against the back wall, and as Takashi placed the Aka no Tsume beside it he registered the faint trace of an all too familiar, insidious Reiatsu from the sheathed daishō. His sense of misgiving deepened as he strode across the smooth wooden floor towards the other, unmoving Shinigami. Kishō had not reacted at all to his presence, and in fact seemed completely oblivious that Takashi was even there. And it was easy to see why: from his posture Takashi assumed he had entered the state of Jinzen. But he was perplexed by the bokutō that Kishō had placed in front of him.

He is not in Jinzen. Kohaku told him. Or at least has not connected to communicate with the spirit of his sword.

For a moment Takashi pondered this, then he sat down in front of Kishō so that they were face to face, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap as if he too would meditate quietly. His eyes glowed with the soft crimson light of his own Reiryoku as studied Kishō, examining his features carefully. There was an undeniable peace about Kishō’s motionless state, belying the turmoil he had allegedly experienced over the recent death of his comrade.

And Takashi wondered if he were staring into the face of a murderer.

As much as he had tried to deny his growing apprehension, the knowledge he had gathered from his research had gradually begun to align itself in his mind and point towards one fact: that Kishō had intentionally killed Wakiya, perhaps instigating the deaths of his previous associates in the ninth as well. The proposition might have been outrageous had it not been for the all-too-clear motives that would have driven him to take such actions. Namely, the Hōsōshi. It was rumored that the clan greatly detested the Gotei 13, despite specializing in Kidō themselves. It seemed more and more unlikely that Kishō had become a Shinigami out of a simple sense of altruism. Perhaps he had been hired to personally instigate insurgency amongst the lower ranks of Shinigami, and this was by no means a threat to be underestimated. Whatever his true motives might have been, it was clear that Kishō was a dangerous and unpredictable individual. The uncertainty and incompetence he had displayed in action could have easily been a façade. And if so his mask had been flawless.

Still, Takashi felt uneasy about suspecting Kishō, especially considering the grave nature such an accusation entailed. He needed confirmation. He needed certainty. However, as he considered the passivity on Kishō’s face he realized that to obtain that certainty would be no easy task.

The moments slipped past as the night continued to edge on, and Takashi remained alert and pensive as he waited for Kishō to return to reality.



Withdrawn in his world, the heir of the Hōsōshi saw the traditional houses of his family in his view. They were decorated with the items, as usual, it was associated with one of their festivals. He remembered: it was to celebrate the ascension of the new successor. His older sister, Nobara. She ascended as the 25th Head of the Hōsōshi Clan. Kishō recalled this from long before, it made him wonder why it happened now.

An illusion?

He pondered slightly. However, he did not mind to remember the past like this. The times that he had no fear. Of the moments that he had all he yearned for and what bored the heck out of him. But also, his companion in swordsmanship was here. Thinking about that reminded him of the elders that would scold him for leaving the compound. Just as he thought, they had sent another squad of persuaders at him to retrieve him from his constant skipping the mandatory lessons to become a rightful “heir of the clan”, as his elders would say.

Somehow, Kishō did start to miss his family, looking at all the bypassers that greeted him with their demonic, hideous masks. He was used to it. It only comforted him in a sense. And he was sure, if he wanted to be a coward again, his sister, young brother and the rest of the clan would heartily welcome him back.

He didn’t want to run away.

He did. He ran away from the compound. He ran from his responsibilities. Kishō wanted to taste the freedom from before, when everything was still right in his life. And if he recalled correctly, on this day, he missed the ceremony of his sister. Something grudgeful to do so. Yet, she had forgiven him as she understood his suffering very well. And till this day, her lovely younger brother apologise for his absence. Whether this is still sincere, neither knew nor mattered any more. And so, Kishō skillfully escaped the grounds of the main house. Today wasn’t the day he would visit the sub-family, considering they are to attend the main house’s festival.

He fled to the thick, dark forest that Kishō had been forbidden to enter.

The sun was at its brightest, yet, confusingly enough, the clouds were troubled.

“Is it going to rain?” He breathed out, watching the sky through his long eyelashes. Kishō couldn’t recall the past correctly, it was quite… troubled. A sudden ache around his temple started, instinctively his left hand moved to massage it. His eyes focused on the path in front of him, one that blurred with his sight. It was the first time, ever, that the heir had endured such an headache. And so, with his hand resting against his temple, Kishō walked slowly through the familiar forest. There was just one difference: the path was no longer the same as before.

Kishō was lost in the darkness of it. His headache did not improve the situation. For a moment, he decided to rest his body against a nearby tree, only for it to disappear. His eyes, with a certain focus, managed to reduce the blurriness to find the entry to a cave. Straightening his back immediately, he casually walked towards it to enter it, as he is well aware who he would meet beyond these rocky walls.

A smile played on his face upon seeing the scurrier, whitish hair of his mate. And only a name escaped his lips,

“Shizu.”

He, whose name is Shizu, slightly turned his neck to face Kishō. His darker skin made Kishō’s seem very pale. He shared one golden eye with him, it shone through the shadows casted by the sun, as most of his face is concealed by an oni mask: it’s main colour was black, with the exception of the left eye-hole that was decorated with a flaming red.

“You’re alive.” In response, the male grunted at him in disapproval.

After all, Shizu was apart of the sub-family: born to be sacrifices to the main family.

It didn’t stop Kishō to think any different about his friendship with him. “Come on, Shizu. You know I won’t allow you to do that. I will make sure of it.” It’s what he had said to him at that time.

''It would have never worked out… as Shizu would retaliate against Kishō’s wishes. ''

The man he spoke to remained timid. It was in his nature after all to only speak when he deemed it necessary. As such, it urged Kishō to continue as he sat near Shizu and in front of the beautiful lake. “You see… it happened again, Shizu-chan.” He only used that honorific when he was suffering of something deeply. And his companion already realised that the noble was in agonising pain, rather, he suffered of enormous guilt. “Yeah… I tainted my hands, again, with another’s blood.”

Neither spoke. Kishō sighed, knowing that Shizu was waiting for him to finish his rant.

“I’m afraid, Shizu-chan.” At this, the mentioned one leaned a little bit forward, eyes fixating on the trembling figure. “Of myself… of my partner. But, also, I fear to become stronger.”

“Heh. I disappoint you, don’t I?”

At this, Kishō felt the air in his lunges leave his body. The punch of Shizu wasn’t that gentle, nor was it too brutal. It was his way of raging at Kishō. His way of saying, man up. And so, Shizu only made an audible annoyed sound.

“Idiot.” His voice was much deeper than the noble’s. It sounded hoarse, as he hardly spoke and preferred to remain quiet. While Kishō was much more open, he closed himself off from releasing his emotions. He became the support of the heir. “Remember… our meeting. Your reason of becoming a practitioner of Zanjutsu.”

Kishō blinked in surprise at him.

It is true. He often ran away from the mandatory lessons that should make him become one of the “perfect heirs”. After all, this all happened in his rebellious state. He refused to attend the meetings, follow the important traditions of his family and associated himself with the sub-family. Something that he was forbidden to do so. Yet, it was how his eventual friendship with Shizu would begin, who taught him the basics of swordsmanship and helped him develop his style.

“That doesn’t help me, Shizu-chan.” He countered the thoughts.

“Fearing oneself is a weakness, but it could also become your strength.” Shizu bumped his fist against Kishō’s chest, “Accept it.”

The dark and thunderous clouds hid away the bright sun. No more could he feel the warmth radiate from it, instead coldness filled inside him. He had realised something. His own fist had touched the water, mirroring as if he bumped his own chest. Sorrow rose within him once more, recalling that he was all alone.

That’s right.

And yet, he remembered the last words of Shizu. He never forgot them. It’s just that he was too devastated about his losses to comprehend it. Perhaps, now… he did.

“Unprecedented… wasn’t it?”

Acceptance



Their voices were almost inaudible as Kishō slowly returned to his senses. His breathing had changed. He felt the early warmth of the sun on his skin. It didn’t distract him from his meditation. Instead, he felt the flow of the reiatsu much better now. Talking to Shizu, who had become a figment of his imagination, surely helped him see through the obstacles that he has to overcome. At least, Kishō managed to overcome a single one: to become one with the energy flow, something very common for the main Hōsōshi family to perform their skills.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and breathed out of his mouth.

His dominant hand reached for the hilt of the bokutō. As long as he remains calm and concentrated, nothing could go wrong. He wouldn’t need to hesitate to wield the blade in fear of harming anyone. There was no one with him. Kishō was sure of this.

And so, his fingers carefully curled around the hilt of the bokutō. The reiatsu that he had concentrated flows around the weapon, evidently showing an aura of red that spread towards the tip of the sword. Lifting the bokutō gently up, it was clear that Kishō intended to test its strength.

However, he did not yet escape his trance to become aware of his surroundings...



Takashi, on the other hand, shot to his feet the instant he felt Kishō’s Reiatsu begin to pool into the empty, wooden blade of the bokutō. He did not know what he planned to do, but knew that whatever it was would be dangerous. Extremely so. Kishō was essentially channeling his spiritual pressure for an attack; although as to what exactly he planned to attack, Takashi had only one guess, and that was himself. There was no one else in the dōjō, after all. He did wonder, however, what Kishō would have done to the building had he not been there to interfere… but that was irrelevant under the current situation.

“Hōsōshi-san!” he shouted at Kishō, “Stop!”

Kishō did not seem to hear him, apparently still dead to world around him. With his eyes closed he raised the bokutō slightly.

“Shit.” Takashi spat as he cast about him for a weapon. There was his Zanpakutō leaning against the wall, but to draw it inside the dōjō would be to go against protocol. He felt as Kishō’s Reiatsu swelled around him, and as he adjusted his stance and tightened his grip on the hilt, the pressure in the room sharpened palpably. The intent was clear: Kishō would strike, and Takashi was his target.

Without another instant’s hesitation Takashi flew across the floor and snatched his sword, readying himself for whatever Kishō would direct his way.

What the hell is happening? He asked Kohaku, who had simply calmly observed Kishō while Takashi had frantically scrambled to react.

''It seems he is still in a trance, of some sort. She replied. Although he has not yet entered Jinzen.''

Still? Takashi was puzzled: just how far exactly had Kishō drifted within the realm of his own mind?

But the next second Kishō unleashed the energy that had been suppressed in the bokutō. A crimson wave sliced through the air towards where Takashi stood, and despite having very little time to react the lieutenant responded with a sudden, calm efficiency. It was barely noticeable, but at the last second his expression hardened to one of complete immovability and he slid his left foot backwards, widening his stance by a hair’s breadth and rooting himself to the ground beneath his feet. The attack rushed upon him, and in the time it took to blink he had drawn his blade. The metal bit through the oncoming energy and severed it, allowing it to dissipate in the atmosphere, and before another breath could be drawn he had already resheathed his Zanpakutō.

In the wake of the exchange the dōjō fell once more into utter silence. Kishō lapsed back into a motionless state, and Takashi’s eyes narrowed as he waited for his next move. The abrupt motion of his counterattack had shaken a few feathers loose from Kohaku’s breast, and they drifted breezily in the dark stillness between the two combatants.

Kishō, however, made no response, and at that moment Takashi decided to take action. If he was still lost somewhere in his meditative state, there was a chance that Takashi might unintentionally injure him, but at this stage he had decided that the path of least damage would be whichever path was the shortest to either disarming or incapacitating Kishou. He only hoped that it would be the former.

Falling into a shallow crouch, Takashi concentrated his Reiryoku into the balls of his feet as he prepared to make his own attack. His hand was on the hilt of his Zanpakutō, and it took conscious effort on his part to keep the blade in its scabbard. By no means could he slip into his familiar habit to draw it; there would be no blood shed that night.

He breathed in, and then he rushed towards Kishō. With one step of Shunpo he was carried across the length of the floor, and he skirted close to it in order to strike upwards from below. The instant he reached Kishou he had already begun his swing, and the Aka no Tsume followed its own momentum as it cut up towards its target’s wrists, which still held the bokutō firmly in both hands. Takashi himself continued on his path forwards, only sliding to a halt past where Kishō stood.

There was a resounding smack as the lacquer of the saya contacted flesh sharply, and the bokutō flew from Kishō’s hands and skittered across the floor. Takashi straightened up and turned back towards Kishō, hoping that the other Shinigami had at last come to his senses.



In the far distance, he had heard a faint voice yelling at him. Someone familiar, he didn’t recognise them. In fact, it was something his nullified senses had discarded. Kishō couldn’t comprehend anything other than the concentration of the Reiryoku, which, he now with his absolute control could flow into the bokutō.

One could say, Kishō had become “drunk” with the current power that he felt. It was what he controlled, and the rebellious side of him definitely wanted to release it. The side he feared. And to him it didn’t matter, it had to happen regardless.

And so, he wasn’t even aware of Takashi’s initial attacks against him. His vice-captain had countered his unrefined attack with much ease, and in response Kishō lapsed back in a motionless state. Giving his superior the time to reevaluate the situation and bring him back to his senses.

He suddenly felt a burning sensation on his wrists. It caused him to lose the bokutō, which skittered away, as the sudden lose of weight made Kishō stumble backwards. His hands fell to his sides, while he landed on the floor of the dōjō. The pair of different eyes shone brightly, the red darker while the golden a lot brighter in the shimmering brightness, as they fixated with confusion on the taller Shinigami.

“... Sakuma-fukutaichō?” His voice sounded a lot calmer than he would’ve expected. “Why, eh, are you here?”

While Takashi had prepared a response for that very question, the violent interruption had caught him off guard and at first it seemed as though he were at a loss as to how to begin. The pause lasted only half a second, however, and he quickly replied:

“Before I answer that, Hōsōshi-san, might I ask what you are doing here? It is a breach of protocol to use the training halls without permission, and the fact that you are here in the middle of the night arouses suspicion as to the exact nature of your activities, to say the least.” he spoke strongly, if perhaps too brusquely, and hoped he had successfully diverted Kishō’s question for the time-being.

Kishō listened carefully to his vice-captain. He was at a loss for words for a couple of seconds. It didn’t matter, as the unseated recomposed himself, his eyes still warily fixated on Takashi. He didn’t show his fear or the grief for Wakiya in front of him, the arrogance of his nobility prevented that. And yet, he believed that being honest would get him further than where he was now.

“I am well aware that I have breached the rules, Sakuma-fukutaichō. My reason is very simple: I cannot train during the day with my peers. I am more at ease when it has become night, as I can reflect on my errors on the past without any sort of disruptions.” He had spoken formally towards his superior. However, Kishō was uncertain whether or not he should be more honest about his reasons.

“And, I believe you’ve already encountered my… state of meditation.” This time Kishō took a longer pause before he continued. He was thinking about the correct words he should use in his explanation. “I am repenting for my failures.”

“In order to become stronger, I need to overcome my own fears. That’s the only way I can move forward from my past, Sakuma-fukutaichō.”

Takashi sighed heavily, and he seemed to relax.

“The truth of the matter is, Hōsōshi-san,” he began as he rested his Zanpakutō across his shoulder, “Is that I have been concerned about this very issue for sometime. Ever since our recent assignment, to be precise.” he studied Kishō carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. “That is why I followed you here tonight... fortunate on your part, seeing as how you were about to put a hole through our division’s oldest dōjō.” he trailed off and glared at Kishō, as if expecting some form of apology, but he continued after there was no response. “To put it bluntly, your performance of late has been less than acceptable, and I mean that for missions besides the one with Wa— the one at the mill. Considering this I think it would be prudent for you to take a short reprieve; perhaps a week or so.”

In turn, as Takashi addressed his concerns, Kishō rubbed his wrist out of instinct as he continued to feel the painful, burning sensation. The motion stopped immediately.

“Sakuma-fukutaichō,” he stuttered with his next line, as he couldn’t comprehend that he was capable of such a feat: him, of all beings. “By all means, sir, it would not be possible for me to do so!”

It couldn’t be, the shorter Shinigami thought to himself. He remembered that he felt the power overflowing within him. Still, it was that feeling he had felt a long time ago. And to him, it was apart of his imagination after speaking to his late companion. If this is true… causing Kishō to stiffen in front of the fukutaichō, the fear settled deep within him again.

His hands clenched together, the blood drained away from them. Biting his lip, Kishō tried to recompose himself in front of Takashi. The rest of the words that the fukutaichō spoke went past his ears.

“I… apologise for my incompetent behaviour. As well for my selfish behaviour to leave the barracks at night.”

No longer did Kishō meet the eyes of Takashi. He had lowered his head.

A sign of defeat.

There was a lull in the conversation, and for a moment the only sound was Takashi tapping the hilt of his sword against his collarbone.

Why is he being so difficult? he complained to Kohaku.

Perhaps you should try another approach. she suggested. This caused him to frown slightly, and he ignored her.

“Very well. Since you understand, I would suggest returning to the barracks at once in order to get as much sleep as possible,” he said to Kishō. “We will leave at first light tomorrow morning.”

The shorter Shinigami began to dull slightly. Weariness finally overwhelmed him, and while he forced himself to focus on the fukutaichō’s words, Kishō had a struggle to keep his yawn in. “Ah… Sakuma-fukutaichō, I was actually planning to visit my home… well, I mean, my sister insisted that I returned temporarily.” It was partially the truth, yet a lie, as Kishō had the freedom to do as he wished for now. His sister would support him, allowing him to likely receive a special leave for the duties of his clan. “I apologise for not having informed you beforehand! It was on a quick notice.”

Kishō bowed slightly, panic had risen to him to stay with his lieutenant. It was something similar with the Ninth Division back then. His friends and comrades, they either passed away during the incident or feared him for his abilities. And if one was observant enough, they could see that he was quite uncomfortable to be near Takashi, someone that he intentionally avoided as much as possible.

He nearly forget, “Also, I have kitchen duty.” A tiresome sigh left him. “I won’t be able to get any more sleep either.”

The rhythmic motion of Takashi’s sword came to a sudden halt, and his brow furrowed. So he would rather suffer kitchen duty than have me accompany him. Takashi commented to his hawk. Have I really become that disagreeable?

She did not reply.

“Hōsōshi-san, to be perfectly clear, this is an order, not a request.” he stated with a stern edge to his voice. “It has become my responsibility to personally oversee your training over the course of the next week— the trip is not optional.” But he paused for a moment and his expression softened, perhaps after Kohaku had silently berated him for some slight of conduct on his part.

“However,” he continued, “I suppose if it is possible, we could take a slight detour for you to stop at your family’s home... although it would only be for an evening at most.”

The unseated Shinigami prolonged the silence. He understood the words of the fukutaichō. But he wanted to object the training that Takashi was going to push onto him. It was mandatory, something that Kishō seemed to despise in all-sorts of ways. Unlike his past-self, Kishō slightly lowered his head again as an understanding between the two. He didn’t want to speak, he didn’t trust his voice for it.

On the notion of the possible detour, Kishō raised his head to confirm the “spoken words” with his pair of different eyes. Finally, he found himself speaking, “... that sounds fair enough, Sakuma-fukutaichō.”

However, the Hōsōshi clansman had other thoughts in his mind: namely that his family did not obey the Shinigami.