Under a dark gray sky, Asano Kiyoshi held a bundle of pure white chrysanthemums and gently placed them in front of Banai Daigo's grave.
Behind him stood Banai Daigo's grieving family. Tears still wet on their faces, they watched the young man who had come to pay his respects. Daigo's wife wiped her eyes and bowed deeply to Asano Kiyoshi.
Asano quietly returned the bow, his mind replaying the moment Daigo was killed—his mangled body, the flying flesh and blood, the warmth of the spilled blood—all of it etched guilt into his heart.
Daigo's youngest child lay sobbing atop the grave, wailing uncontrollably as a torrential rain washed over the gravestone, cleansing the remnants of bones and blood—washing away sin and obsession alike.
Dazed, Asano walked along the cemetery path, his figure soaked by the rain. The bluish-gray bricks, slick from the downpour, gave the scene a cold, lonely air.
It was then that a brown-haired man wearing a pink haori appeared beside him. It was Kyōraku Shunsui. He held an umbrella over Asano, shielding him from the rain. Stroking his stubbled chin, he bent his tall frame slightly and sighed.
"Feeling a little rough inside?"
Asano paused, momentarily startled. As he turned and recognized the figure, he moved to bow, but Shunsui gently placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"No need for all that. Right now, I'm not your captain—just an older guy standing beside you. Don't be so formal."
Hearing his words, Asano was silent for a moment before quietly nodding.
"Yes… Captain Kyōraku, I do feel a bit… down."
Shunsui looked up at the gloomy sky and said with a calm tone, "It's always hard at first. Just take it slow…"
He fell silent after that, simply standing beside Asano and holding the umbrella.
Noticing Asano's somewhat puzzled gaze, Shunsui chuckled and asked:
"What? You thought I'd give you some heartfelt words of comfort?"
Asano scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "Yeah… something like that."
"Haha, comforting people really isn't my strong suit. And honestly, words don't help much with this kind of thing. Just being here, walking with you—that might do more. Besides, what young man would want a crusty old man's advice, anyway?"
His teasing tone made Asano laugh softly. He tried to take the umbrella from Shunsui, wanting to be the one to hold it, but Shunsui stopped him.
"I'm taller than you—it's easier if I hold it. Besides, when have kids ever held umbrellas for adults? That's our job. You guys just need to grow strong beneath them."
He smiled. "That's something an old man once taught me when he used to hold the umbrella for me."
Asano didn't have to ask who the "old man" was—he already knew.
The two walked along the stone path, raindrops drumming rhythmically on the paper umbrella. The steady "ta-ta" sounds felt oddly soothing. As the rain fell, the heaviness in Asano's chest began to ease.
There wasn't much he could do—Daigo made his own choice, just like Asano had. They both had things they needed to protect. Dying for that… was perhaps the most honorable fate a Shinigami could ask for.
Still, Asano couldn't shake a lingering sadness from his heart.
As he left, Shunsui remained standing in place. His pink haori stood out starkly among the somber colors of the cemetery. Scratching his head, he muttered with a faint smile:
"Ah… the troubles of youth…"
Then, he too vanished from the scene. After all, even older men have their own worries—like a stern lieutenant with glasses, and an endless pile of paperwork and stamps…
Back at the hospital, Asano found Ikkaku and Yumichika almost fully recovered. He smiled as he filled them in on what had happened after the Hollow attack.
When Ikkaku learned that Asano had taken down the Hollow by himself, he immediately issued another battle challenge.
This time, Asano didn't refuse. The two snuck out of Squad Four's barracks and made their way to an open training field.
Yumichika had tried to stop them, but only half-heartedly. He knew Ikkaku well—there was no way the bald brawler would listen to reason. Left with no choice, Yumichika took on the role of referee and lookout.
It was an early summer night—not too hot, with a gentle moonlight shining down. Ikkaku grinned, light glinting off his bald head. His small eyes narrowed, and a sharp intensity radiated from them.
With a loud clang, both drew their Zanpakutō simultaneously.
In Asano's mind, data on Ikkaku appeared like a painted scroll:
Name: Madarame IkkakuZanjutsu: 39 (Significantly improved through system-guided training)Hakuda: 42 (Street-fighting experience refined through formal instruction)Kido: 20 (Still hopeless—what's up with that shiny bald head?)Hoho: 39 (Quickly mastered Shunpo, aided by natural battle intuition)Reiatsu Level: Sixth-class spiritual pressureOverall Rating: 140(Comparable to a 15th seat officer of a standard division. Combat intent is extraordinarily strong—proceed with caution!)Zanpakutō: Hōzukimaru (Shikai unlocked!)
Asano nodded inwardly. Ikkaku had progressed quickly, likely spurred on by his encounter with that pig-faced Hollow. He had even unlocked his Shikai.
Asano's reason for accepting Ikkaku's challenge was simple: he wanted to test his current strength. Besides, always rejecting Ikkaku's requests wasn't the best way to build a friendship. If you wanted to be friends with a battle maniac, you had to speak his language. And a friendly spar wasn't going to hurt anyone.
Seeing the two of them ready, Yumichika's earlier exasperation gave way to seriousness. He might not be a fighter like Ikkaku, but he had just as much respect for the art of combat. In a solemn setting like this, he wouldn't show his usual flippant attitude.
A thin cloud slowly drifted across the moon.
And in the darkness that followed, the two figures moved—like phantoms in the night!
T/N: For up to 20 chapters ahead on all my translations, become a p@tron at p@treon.com/LordHipposApostle