Bleach: Enosichthon - CH6 (Patreon)

This went better than I expected, and it works well with what I wanted to do in the first place. I mean, if the top dog of these so-called Shinigami was ‘ordering me’ to join, who am I to say no? It just made things easier.

"Fine by me, gramps," I continued, flashing him a smile. "Wait a moment… Since you're inviting us and stuff... any chance you can give us a lift there?"

"You will walk," Yamamoto stated, completely shutting down the negotiation with absolute finality. Man… I could already tell Gramps was the life of the party.

"Fair enough, it was worth a shot," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

"Lord Commander..."

Sajin’s voice was so quiet it almost went unnoticed beneath the sound of the rain outside the cave. I looked down. Sajin hadn't moved from his kneeling position. His massive head was still bowed, his golden eyes fixed firmly on the muddy floor of the cave.

"I appreciate the offer… but I’m afraid I cannot follow this mandate," Sajin continued. "My companion might have a place in your world… But I do not. A creature cursed to hide in the shadows. I do not belong to the Seireitei, none of my clan do. To stand amongst you would only bring you shame, and dishonor."

I frowned at that, opening my mouth to tell the big guy he was talking complete nonsense, but gramps beat me to it.

The old man didn't look at Sajin with pity or love, nor did he look at him with the disgust Sajin so clearly expected from him just as he had from me when we met. There was something else in his gaze, something I couldn’t quite read.

"One of your clan may indeed have no place in the Seireitei," Yamamoto said quietly.

Sajin’s shoulders slumped, bracing for the absolute rejection he had probably known his entire life. 

"That much is true," Yamamoto continued. "So I shall give you a place to stand."

Yamamoto lifted his walking stick and struck it against the stone floor. A sharp, defining sound that echoed in the small space.

"Raise your head, Sajin of the Wolfman Clan, from today forward, you shall be known as Komamura Sajin."

Sajin froze, as a breath hitched violently in his chest. Slowly, as if fighting against the weight of his own disbelief, the giant wolf-man lifted his head, his eyes were wide, welling with emotions that I couldn't even begin to fully comprehend, but even then, I knew what the old man had done, by giving him a last name, he was basically telling him… you belong.

"Komamura..." Sajin breathed out, as if testing the weight of the word on his tongue. For him, it wasn’t just a name. It was an entirely new identity, a foundation in a world that had spent his entire existence trying to push him away.

"You will wear that name with pride," Yamamoto commanded. "You will prove to the Seireitei that loyalty and strength of character belong to the soul, regardless of its shape."

Sajin didn't say a single word. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn't. He just bowed his head again, pressing his forehead directly against the stones and mud, as his shoulders shook silently, completely overcome by what just had happened.

"Komamura," I murmured, a wide smile breaking across my face as I looked down at my friend. "Sajin Komamura, I liked it."

I don’t know why a small part of me was bothered… perhaps was because I still hadn’t picked a name to share with others?

Names… are important, right? But I don’t have one… well, I had one, but it’s lost to me, what does that say about me? Perhaps it says I am an omission of some kind, a line left out of the story, if a name is proof that you exist, that someone looked at you, and claimed you as an individual, then perhaps the silence that is now my name means I am entirely on my own… that in this world, no one has claimed me… that sounds poetic enough.

"And you, boy," Yamamoto said, his voice echoing perfectly against the damp rock. "What’s your name?"

I scratched the back of my neck, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle. "Well, I don't have one, actually. The old one didn't make the trip across, and I haven't picked a new one yet. I figured I'd wait until I reached civilization to find something that fit."

"A man without a name is a leaf caught in a gale, belonging to nothing and driven by nothing," Yamamoto said, looking at me. "But that’s not you, isn’t it? You swung a weak blade at me when your friend was threatened without a shred of hesitation. And when you were stripped of your steel, you raised your bare hands against the fire that threatened to kill you to stand beside him."

He brought his walking stick down against the stone floor one more time. He seemed to enjoy doing that.

"Your spirit lacks discipline, and your mouth severely lacks manners," Yamamoto declared, though the faintest ghost of amusement touched the corners of his eyes. "But you do not lack courage, so… as I did with your friend, I will do to you… From this day forward, you shall be known as; Moriyama Makoto."

I blinked, as a single thought raced across my mind: How the heck do I write that?

"Uh, thanks, Gramps," I said, dropping my hands to my sides and giving him a small, awkward wave. "Quick question though, how do I spell that? And follow up question, which one is the first name?"

I think I read somewhere that Japanese names work in reverse, like instead of saying: my name is John Smith, you say something like: my name is Smith John. I could be wrong though.

Yamamoto paused, his back half-turned toward the freezing rain. He didn't look over his shoulder, but I could practically hear the deep, weary sigh leaving his chest. It was the universal sound of an old man realizing he had just deliberately adopted a massive headache.

"The Academy will teach you how to hold a brush, boy," Yamamoto said, walking towards the exit of the cave. "Ensure you do not disgrace the characters when you finally learn to write them."

I could tell the old man wasn’t up for any other questions.

"Got it," I called out after him, giving him a lazy two-finger salute to his back. "Until then, gramps."

Yamamoto didn't reply, he simply stepped out into the mud and started walking into the rain leaving us behind, and it wasn’t before long that the grey mist of the dying storm swallowed him whole, taking the last of that strange heat with him.

I stood there for a long moment, listening to the torrential rain finally slow into a quiet, manageable drizzle. The oppressive bloodlust radiating from the ruins of Zaraki down in the valley seemed almost muted now, completely eclipsed by whatever the hell had just happened in this tiny, muddy cave.

I let out a long, heavy exhale, running a hand through my hair.

"Well," I murmured, turning to look at Sajin.

Sajin was finally pushing himself off the floor, picking up his discarded, mud-soaked cloak, as his eyes were staring out into the rain where the old man had disappeared, I could tell there was a lot in his mind, and I couldn’t blame him, there was a lot in my mind as well… a lot had happened in less than a few minutes, we almost died, then we didn’t… and now we have names.

He looked at me, and what I saw in his eyes shocked me, there was something different in his gaze… there was now a profound, unshakeable sense of loyalty shining in them.

"Moriyama Makoto," Komamura said, testing my new name just as he had done with his own, a small smile dawning on his face. “I like it, friend…”

"Really?" I replied, a grin breaking across my face as I reached down, grabbing my bag and tossing the strap over my shoulder. "Can’t say I know what it means, but I will assume it’s nothing bad."

Komamura let out a breathy, rumbling chuckle, the sound echoing through the cave, as he looked at me. "The Seireitei lies far to the south. We have a long walk ahead of us, Makoto."

So that’s my first name. Makoto. I kind of like it.

By the time we finally crossed the corpse filled border out of District 80, leaving behind the miserable expanse of psychopaths. District 79: Kusajishi, if my memory was correct, looked like a paradise in comparison, heck, even the buildings looked… ehm, not that good, but I was happy of being out of the desert and the looney house of district 80.

Especially because the terrain was starting to look familiar.

"You know," I said, pausing at a muddy crossroad to wring out the hem of my ruined robe for the fifth time, "Gramps gave us some marching orders, but he didn't exactly front us any travel expenses. And it's a long walk to the Seireitei on an empty stomach."

Sajin glanced down at me, the wide brim of his bamboo hat casting a shadow over his face. "We will forage as we go, Makoto. The lower districts will have more for us, we might go hungry… and it might be hard, but such is the path we have taken."

"Or," I corrected, pointing a thumb down a winding, narrow alleyway between two dilapidated shacks, one that I was pretty familiar with, "we can just hit up the local convenience store. I know a guy."

Ten minutes later, I was standing inside a storage room, happily shoving handfuls of dried meat, root vegetables, and a pair of clean water skins into my bag. I had to say, Goro was very good at organizing stuff, I mean, for a slum, the stash was incredibly well-kept, he had everything and more, I was more than happy about this.

Sajin, however, did not share my enthusiasm.

The giant wolf-man was standing awkwardly in the doorway, his body effectively blocking out the entire afternoon sun, as he kept glancing nervously over his shoulder into the empty courtyard, his ears pinned back against his head.

"Makoto..." Komamura rumbled, his deep voice thick with hesitation. "Should we truly be doing this? Taking the provisions of another soul without asking... It is theft. It hardly seems like the actions of those aspiring to join the Gotei 13."

He had a point, but it was Goro, I doubted he would file a report about it.

"Don't worry about it, Sajin," I said easily, tossing a small wrapped bundle of salt into my bag. "The guy who owns this place runs a criminal ring or something, heck, when I first met him; he tried to slap a collar on my neck calling it employment. The way I see it, this isn't stealing. It's a mandatory tax on being a terrible person. He's bad, so by default we're doing good. It's the circle of life."

Sajin let out a heavy, conflicted sigh, the floorboards groaning under his weight as he shifted uncomfortably. "Even so, to take what is not—"

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing in my—"

The angry shout from the courtyard cut off so abruptly it sounded like someone had hit a mute button.

I tied the thick string of my bag shut and turned around, standing a few feet behind Sajin was Goro, the local slum boss and my first contact in the afterlife. He had a cleaver gripped tightly in his right hand, flanked by two equally generic-looking thugs.

Or, at least, he had been gripping it tightly. Now, his hand was trembling.

Goro was staring straight up, gulping so loud it was audible. He had to crane his neck entirely backward just to make eye contact with the nine-foot-tall, cloaked mountain of furry muscle currently standing in his doorway. As for Sajin, he simply looked down at him, his eyes narrowing, as a low, warning growl vibrating in his chest, almost as if saying, try something and see what happens.

The two thugs flanking Goro took a synchronized step backward.

"Oh, hey Goro," I called out, stepping around Komamura’s massive leg and offering the pale, sweating boss a cheerful wave. "Long time no see. How’s the business?"

Goro’s eyes snapped from the giant wolf-man down to me. “You…”

"Me," I smiled, tossing the heavy bag of stolen supplies over my shoulder. "I didn't actually have a name the last time we met, so I figured I should formally introduce myself before leaving this place. It's The name is Makoto Moriyama. And my friend here is Sajin. We're sort of in a rush to get to the Seireitei, so we decided to pick up some travel rations. Put it on my tab, yeah?"

“Moriyama Makoto,” Sajin corrected with a cough.

Right right, last name first… this might take me a while to get used to.

"Take it…" Goro said, his voice strained and completely drained. "Just take whatever you want and get out of my district."

"Pleasure doing business with you," I said, giving him a two-finger salute as I walked past him into the street.

Everyone was staring, and not at me.

At first, I didn't think much of it, but as we kept walking deeper into the district, the whispers started to be… less whispery. I couldn't make out the exact words, but I didn't need to. The tone told me enough to make a few conjunctions. It was that distinct, hushed murmur of ignorant people pointing out something they didn't understand and didn't like.

I had no idea why they looked upon him like that… but I was starting to see why Sajin expected hate from me… if this was his day to day, it was only natural he expected the same from me.

I glanced to my right. Komamura had pulled his bamboo hat down as far as it would go, trying to obscure his face as much as possible. His body language was a mess… his shoulders were hunched forward, his head was down, almost as if he was trying to make himself look smaller, all while drawing his tattered cloak tight around his chest to hide his fur.

The newfound pride from gramps giving him a name was taking a direct hit from a bunch of strangers staring at him like he was a monster.

"You know, you're going to give yourself terrible back problems if you keep slouching like that," I said looking around us. "And considering how far we have to walk, I really don't want to carry you."

Sajin’s ears twitched under his hat. He didn't look down at me, his gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead. "They look upon me as an aberration… A beast walking where it does not belong."

"Man, look around," I said, gesturing vaguely to the run-down, collapsing shacks lining the street with my half-eaten jerky. "These people live in OSHA violations, drink dirty water, and get extorted by guys like Goro on a daily basis. Who cares what they think?"

Sajin finally turned his head slightly.

"So don’t pay them any attention," I continued, offering him a grin. "Gramps said you belong in the Seireitei. If the head honcho says you're good, then everyone else’s opinion is basically irrelevant, right?"

Sajin stared at me for a long moment, processing the simplicity of my logic, as the tension in his back slowly began to undo. “I suppose you are right.”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” I replied.

"You have a very unique way of viewing the world, Makoto," Komamura rumbled quietly, the heavy, bitter edge gone from his voice. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his snout. "The name truly suits you."

It did? I wonder what it means.

"Don't mention it," I said, waving him off. "Just keeping morale high. Speaking of which, now that we have provisions, how long until we hit the promised land?"

Komamura looked up, his gaze shifting past the collapsing roofs of Kusajishi toward the distant horizon.

"Hard to say… the Rukongai is vast," he explained, letting out a sigh. "Even at a fast pace, traversing through the seventies and into the middle rings will take considerable time. If the weather holds and we encounter no further delays... it should be roughly six weeks before we reach a vantage point where the walls of the Seireitei are even visible to the eye from afar."

"Six weeks." I whistled. "Just to see the fence."

"The walls," Komamura corrected. "But yes."

"Well, I suppose it’s not that bad," I replied. "So, assuming another few weeks to actually walk up to the front door, we are looking at a solid two to three month hiking trip. Man, I would kill for a bus."

"I do not know what a bus is, Makoto," Sajin replied, glancing down at me. "But if this ‘bus’ you refer to is a shortcut, let me be the first one to tell you, there are no shortcuts to reach our goal. The Soul Society is vast by design, it separates the desperate from the determined."

That’s a nice way to say segregation.

"Well, it definitely separates the calluses from my feet, I'll give it that," I chuckled. "But hey, on the bright side, this gives us plenty of time to work on a few things."

Sajin tilted his head. "Work on what?"

"Well," I said, ticking items off on my fingers. "First, I need to figure out how to actually write and read, second, we have to get you used to ignoring the peanut gallery that is society, my friend. If you're going to be a death cop, you can't go around trying to fold yourself into a pretzel every time someone stares at you, and third, we can try doing some training, I imagine this place Gramps told us to go has an entrance exam, and I have a feeling is pretty physical."

"Discipline and training," Sajin rumbled with a soft chuckle. "I can assist you with the latter, though my knowledge of writing is... rudimentary at best."

"Rudimentary is better than entirely clueless," I said, pulling a piece of dried root out of Goro's stash and tossing it in the air, catching it in my mouth. 

"That much is true," Sajin agreed, though his brow furrowed slightly, the thick fur pulling together in thought beneath his hat. He walked in silence for another block, the heavy thud of his footsteps splashing through the thinning mud, before he finally voiced whatever was bothering him.

"Makoto... I must ask," Sajin began, his tone dropping into that heavy, formal weight he used when he was being serious. "If this Goro is truly as wicked as you claim, someone who subjugates and extorts other souls... should we not have apprehended him?"

I stopped tossing my food and looked up at him. "Apprehend him?"

"We are aspiring to join the Gotei 13, are we not?" Sajin continued, looking at me. "If we are to become Shinigami, is it not our duty to bring such men to justice, rather than simply... taking his provisions and leaving him to his rotten villainy?"

I couldn't help it. I actually laughed out loud, a sharp, breathy sound that earned me a look of genuine confusion from the giant. He really was the big honorable type.

"Oh, man," I sighed, wiping a speck of mud off my cheek. "That was good."

Sajin stiffened slightly. "I do not see the humor in allowing a criminal to walk free."

"I know, but the entire thing would be more trouble than it’s worth," I explained, gesturing around. "Let's say we ‘apprehended’ Goro. What then? Where exactly do we take him? Do we carry him around until we reach our destination?"

Sajin looked around at the dilapidated buildings and the hollow-eyed locals watching us from the alleys. "We could… incapacitate him, releasing those under his tyranny."

"True, but that would give them like… a ten minute break from this stuff. The law out here is whoever holds the biggest stick, so it wouldn’t be long before he was replaced," I said, taking another bite of the dried root. "Besides, if we tied Goro up and left him in the street, one of his men would just slit his throat and take over his venture before the sun goes out. And the new guy might be even worse."

Sajin remained still as he processed what I had just said. His ears flattened slightly, showing that he was clearly displeased by the mechanics of it all.

"Besides," I added, shifting the heavy bag on my shoulder and starting to walk again, prompting him to follow, "We aren't Shinigami yet. Right now, we're just two unlicensed guys on a very long camping trip. Let the actual death cops sort this one out."

"It is a heavy truth to accept," Sajin murmured after a moment, looking at me. "To turn a blind eye to tyranny because one lacks the authority to stop it."

"We aren't turning a blind eye," I replied, scratching the back of my head. "We're just prioritizing stuff… I mean, you can't fix a leaking roof if you're drowning in the basement, right? Once we get the badges or whatever it is they give you, we can do more. Then, if you want to come back here and clean up the streets, I'll happily back you up. But until then, there’s not much we can do."