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Chapter Text

Few have heard about the Kusajishi girl's whereabouts as of late.

Zaraki has taken it upon himself to find her and has scouted every sweet shoppe all over Rukongai, and has since summoned the rest of the 11th Division to do the same.

I am unsure as to how far he'll get, though.

Normally, I find it in my best interests not to concern myself with such trivial matters—even if it happens to be the absence of a former lieutenant.

However, over the past few weeks, I have noticed that another multitude of koi have gone missing from the lake surrounding the manor. The only evidence that was disposed of were short strands of an awful pink-toned hair and stray candy wrappers.

I took it upon myself to sanction more guards in the area and notify the 11th Division captain.

After I had gone to such lengths, the Kusajishi girl returned no more.

Zaraki then marked me as a liar and yesterday, Abarai subtly asked if I would like for him to purchase eyeglasses on my behalf from the same place he buys those ridiculous-looking sunglasses of his. Zaraki must have spread the word.

I then reminded him that I could revoke my blessing of his and Rukia's wedding at any given time, if I so choose.

Luckily, my pride has not been harmed inasmuch my dear sister believes that the former 11th Division lieutenant has been discovered stealing koi from my grounds—therefore being alive and well. However, I saw her conversing with her husband earlier and she had the gall to turn and glance at me worriedly.

Kusajishi girl, wherever you are, I hope you are happy, for you have made a liar out of me.

And stay out of my koi!

Chapter Text

Why Rukia bothered to marry that Abarai character is still unknown to me.

I understand that he is a valiant and noble warrior—brave enough to be a valued lieutenant of mine and that he will protect Rukia with his life, but . . .

I don't find that ferocity of his very appealing—it is not unlike that Kurosaki's.

Nor do I enjoy his temper—which is only matched by his ferocity—as I feel as if such a brute would taint my dear sister—but she herself is a Soul Reaper and has witnessed great deaths and has participated in such killings.

More importantly—his lack of appreciation for the Seaweed Ambassador is not to be overlooked. Although he dare not say it directly to my face (perhaps that is wise of him?)—his disgusted glances at such a magnificent creation only furthers his disability in determining proper aesthetics, which cannot be pleasant to my sister.

As a man—a Soul Reaper—a lieutenant—I admire Abarai greatly, although he has a number of flaws which I will not list at this time. As I stated before, he is valiant and noble and denotes enough respect to Rukia that his need to protect her is instinctive. I am also aware they were close friends in Rukongai.

But as a brother-in-law? I am unsure as to how my actions are to be perceived. A nameless Abarai has been married into the great Kuchiki clan, so I must treat him cordially.

Nevertheless, he is my subordinate, so I must also treat him as his role denotes. Surely the rules in the 6th Division's barracks apply to familial matters as well.

Abarai tends to take my wariness and particular uneasiness well—I believe. Perhaps there is some hope for him after all.

Please hold a moment—I have just received word that that imbecile has taken rest in one of the trees lining the garden (Rukia mentioned he enjoyed doing so), just because I have allowed him access to every facility in the Kuchiki manor, seeing as he is now Rukia's husband—although now I am thinking better of such a hasty decision. Does he not know that he's embarrassing not only himself, but the Kuchiki name by doing so? No one in their rightest state of mind would succumb to sleeping outside during midday when there are perfectly acceptable silken beds inside the manor.

Ah, perhaps I could have garnered a far worse brother-in-law—like that Kurosaki character.

Mark my words Renji Abarai, I will suffer through you sleeping in my trees and your appalling disrespect for the Seaweed Ambassador—but dare you break my dear sister's heart, and I will skin you alive and bury you in your own gaudy sunglasses collection.

Chapter Text

Yumichika Ayasegawa of the 11th Division baffles me—and I don't use the term "baffles" lightly.

He is a curious fellow. He takes pride in belonging to one of the most violent divisions in all of the Gotei 13, yet prefers to exude beauty in battle instead—although his liking for barbarity seems strong in his 11th Division veins.

Do not misunderstand me—I do not find his sense of fashion the least bit appealing—nor have I forgotten the beauty of bloodlust, my Senbozakura proves that.

Nevertheless, he certainly is an oddity in the 11th Division barracks. While the other brutish members parade around shirtless and compare gruesome battle scars as often as the choose not to don shihakushōs—which is, in essence, all of he time—Yumichika prefers to groom his strangely feathered eyebrows and differentiate multiple styles as to how his uniform can be worn.

Through all my observations, I do have one misgiving about this 3rd seat officer. A few years back when he was still 5th seat, the fool had the gall to pronounce my kenseikan, "garish and out-of-style," to Madarame in the presence of Abarai. He hadn't the nerve to repeat this to my face after I'd questioned him about the incident at a later time, proclaiming my hairpieces as, "becoming and very 'hip'". I have yet to decipher what the second part of his statement implies.

I once asked Abarai as to what it meant, and he told me that Yumichika possibly meant to note that my kenseikan resembled hips, but I don't believe that to be so, as my kenseikan do not resemble such body parts whatsoever. I was insulted for Abarai to even suggest the fact and sent him to go assist the 4th Division in their cleaning duties as punishment.

Forgive me, I have allowed my thoughts to wane.

Rukia's noticings have only added to Yumichika's strangeness. She believes him to be vain, which is obvious, yet believes he has his moments of insight as well. I have yet to see his "insightfulness", but I shall take my dear sister's words to heart.

Now, I have yet to seek retribution for Yumichika's insult to my kenseikan—believe me, I swear that this is not an action of vengeance, but in order to clear the Kuchiki name—the glorious kenseikan shall not be a tool in which people may pronounce their mockery.

A few parting words:

Yumichika Ayasegawa, beware.

Chapter Text

Few people can match my beauty—of that, I am sure.

Simultaneously, few people can be so far off the mark in grace and beauty that they turn out similar to the subject I have chosen today.

Now, where shall I begin with him?

In my well-intoned and humble opinion, he is a disgrace to the Shiba Clan.

My question is how can one of the former five Noble families produce offspring as unpleasing to the eye as him?

Ganju Shiba.

A pretty sight, he is not, and his detestable instinct for a barbaric fight led me to believe that he was not of the Shiba clan at all. At least Kaien, Isshin, and Kūkaku have their looks about them, while Ganju prefers to parade around on . . . a boar and declare his (previous?) distaste for Soul Reapers.

The day prior, I sent out a servant of mine into Rukongai to ask Kūkaku whether or not the thing she defines as a brother truly was a Shiba.

The poor fellow returned bloodied and bruised and whined that they had used some version of an enchanted cannon to catapult over the sekki-seki walls (there had been a disturbance beforehand and the walls had to be put back up)—and used him as the cannonball after she was done screaming at him.

Kūkaku had brusquely replied that "Ganju may look more like the damn boar he likes to ride around like hooligan than he does a man, but he's a Shiba through and through." Apparently, she taught him well, no matter "how much of an idiot he actually is".

I suppose I will have to relegate Ganju to a Shiba clan member after all—at the very least, to protect the lives of my disposable servants.

I am very merciful, you see.

Chapter Text

My pride has been damaged.

Although the blow it has taken is acute and stems from understandable vanity, it is a wound that I would prefer to recover from quickly.

Some incompetent fool from the Soul Reaper Women's Association (I presume it to be the imbecile Matsumoto) has sanctioned a poll determining whose hairstyle is more "hip" (I have yet to interpret the meaning of this phrase)—Ikkaku Madarame's, or mine.

Please note that under normal circumstances, I would never have allowed my name to be one of the options in a poll—such is beneath me, but this was done without my consent.

The results showed that a staggering 96.45% of Soul Reapers apart of the Gotei 13 preferred Ikkaku's hair (or lack thereof) as opposed to mine.

I would be obliged to remind you that Ikkaku bears not a single strand of hair on his very bald head.

Normally, such fallacies—being not acceptable to contend with in accordance with my rank as head of the Kuchiki clan—I do not take heart to; I let the peasants have their fun. Nevertheless, this poll left me feeling highly unsatisfied and insulted.

Having more self-respect than to sulk about such trivial matters, I made the decision to confine myself to my room, guards sanctioned outside the door, and experiment with various hairstyles. I disregarded my kenseikan for the time being, and let my hair hang loosely down my shoulders. Many different styles I tried, yet none one of them pleased me.

A time later, I heard the sound of what sounded like guards gasping for air and loud thuds on the floor outside my door and instantly, my senses became thoroughly aware of my surroundings. The brush dropped from my hand and I began to recite kidō spells in my head, but to my surprise, instead of a possible burglar, my dear sister, Rukia, stomped in.

"Brother," she announced, eyeing my loose hair and brush suspiciously. "What are you doing?" Her eyes widened, and a thought seemed to click in her mind in realization. "This hair-debacle wouldn't be about that stupid poll, now, would it? I thought you had more pride than to sulk about it and to hole yourself up in your room."

Abarai marched into my room (without permission, may I add), following his wife, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Captain, you're sulking?"

I bowed my head and addressed Rukia, completely ignoring my lieutenant/brother-in-law. "Dear sister, don't lecture me regarding pride—this new hairstyle has been brought about for I thought it was time for a change." Lies are not apart of the Kuchiki code of honor, but such a situation demanded it.

Abarai huffed and Rukia crossed her arms, grunting, as if I hadn't spoken, "Brother, you know that poll was faked, right? Hinamori told me that the actual poll results will be featured in the Seireitei Communication—in which she hinted that you were the winner—mainly because Ikkaku is bald."

"Besides, Captain," Abarai added, nodding. "Everyone loves your hair."

Rukia nodded. "Yes, it's very 'hip'. Don't change it, please."

Hip.

Rukia wouldn't insult me, now, would she? If she dared dub my hair as "hip", then it must be some varying form of a compliment. Perhaps I shall keep my hair as to the way it was before—but only because my dear sister said so.

Abarai suddenly marched out the room, declaring he had some "business with Captain Hitsugaya", and Rukia promptly followed him, right before I could ask her what the term "hip" meant.

I suppose I shall learn at a later time.

Chapter Text

The Soul Reaper Women's Association is causing trouble on my behalf again. First, it was the secret meetings in the manor and then the hidden pool—and now, this. Do those wretched women not understand when the correct time to cease such foolish actions approaches? I've yet to understand why my dear sister, Rukia, is among their ranks.

A few days prior, I was strolling by the 10th Division barracks, only to realize that that heinous group of women had sanctioned a section of the grounds to exhibit their latest (and normally fruitless) marketing techniques.

I normally don't care for such stupidities, yet I witnessed Rukia standing among the group with a flustered and angry, red face. I was imminent on finding out what was done to make her upset.

Head held high, I walked over to see what the fuss was about, and found out that the Soul Reaper Women's Association's new marketing ploy was to sell . . . vases.

"Brother, don't look at them!" Rukia cried, as I made my move to examine one of the vases.

It was too late, as I had already caught sight of the design. They were tacky, tasteless, and lacked any engrossing detailing, save for some carvings of a rather odd-looking person, holding what looked like a cluster of grapes. Already, I knew no one would buy them, but for some inexplicable reason, over three-quarters of the vases were already sold.

Then, I took a closer look at the man engraved onto the vases. There, etched into the clay, were several crude images of a man wearing kenseikan and a captain's haori bearing the number 6. In his poorly-drawn hand was a despicable image of the Seaweed Ambassador.

Save for the haori, he was completely nude.

I blinked at Rukia, and then at the women from the Association. I crushed the vase I was holding in my hand.

As the Soul Reaper Women's Association stood in silent reprimand, I unsheathed Senbonzakura and swiped the blade through every remaining vase and walked away. They were too far gone and beneath me to retain such fury I would have poured on them.

I hoped never again that I would see such a disrespectful image of me in the Soul Society again.

Next week, I found out that they were selling scroll posters with the same design.

Chapter Text

I have won.

Second-place.

In essence, I have lost.

Every year, on the third day of the tenth month, the Gotei 13 sponsors a Cooking Competition that at least one group from every division must partake in. Normally, I take upon a group consisting of myself and Abarai, but ever since my dear sister Rukia and I have recharged our relationship, we have taken to pairing together. Abarai then summons Ichigo Kurosaki from the World of the Living to partner with him.

There has yet to be a year in which the Kuchiki clan has lost one of these competitions.

Until this year.

Rukia, although being the captain of the 13th Division, has taken to allowing 3rd seat Sentarō Kotsubaki, and other members of the 13th Division to represent the division in the competition, and before you assume, no, I did not pull (very many) strings to allow her in my group.

The secret to the Kuchiki's dish is not because of its inane complexity but in its flavorful simplicity. The high-pedigree koi bred in the lake surrounding the manor, although mainly for decorative purposes, add a delicate and fresh flavor to the dull onigiri than any other fish—per say, salmon—possibly could. It is such the reason we Kuchiki are rather possessive of our koi—they are, in essence, our secret ingredient.

But—but this year . . . I cannot say much without saying anything particularly vulgar.

I blame our loss on that sniveling Ichigo Kurosaki.

He brought in a recipe concocted by his eccentric and peculiar girlfriend, Orihime Inoue—"donuts" with red bean paste and "ketchup".

I am not amused.

I've always known Captain-Commander Kyōraku to be an odd character, but it was not at all comedic (in my humble opinion), when he, being the judge, took a bite of Abarai and Kurosaki's absurd dish and moaned in an oddly sensual way at the taste. He declared it the winner even before he'd tasted the rest of the dishes. Lieutenant Ise told him he couldn't do that and in turn, he begrudgingly tasted the rest of the entries.

He hardly even blinked when he tasted the famous Kuchiki Koi Onigiri.

Since Captain-Commander Kyōraku was so hellbent on declaring Kurosaki and Abarai's dish winner of "every prize imaginable", Lieutenant Ise took on judging the rest of them, and because she bears a brain, declared that the Kuchiki Koi Onigiri won second place and (due to her Captain's demands), Kurosaki and Abarai's dish won first.

No, I'm not pleased that the 6th Division still won an award—two, actually, both first and second place.

A yes, I understand that Abarai is technically married into the Kuchiki clan.

Also, yes, my pride has also been wounded—though my wonderful sportsmanship betrayed no such fallacy. My pride won't be destroyed, this time, by sulking either. Abarai will have to be punished for winning first-place as opposed to me, though.

I almost wish Captain-Commander Yamamoto was still alive.

At least his taste-buds were still sharp and could easily tell the winners from the losers.

(I have decided that Abarai will be sleeping outside today. It is cold.)

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Rangiku Matsumoto believes I am stupid.

She has not explicitly said so, yet her actions speak far, far louder than anything she could ever say.

It does not pain me; for her to assume that I am stupid (which I am adamant to clarify that I am not) would be as if the pot called the kettle black—an idiom Abarai has picked up from the World of the Living and has repeated countless times whenever I chastise kindly or delicately insult him.

Her implications began when she invited me to drink saké with her and other members of the 11th Division—and I need not remind you that she is not a part of that Division. Normally, I am not opposed to saké—the royal winemakers of the Kuchiki clan distribute much of the Soul Society's finest wine.

But let me clarify.

Rangiku did not invite me to drink saké with her and her drinking buddies—they invited me to get drunk—read: wasted—with them at some bar in Inuzuri. I shall assume that she was just a tad tipsy at the time when she asked or such stupidities would not exit her mouth.

The state of becoming drunk is poison to the pride of a Kuchiki. Alcohol can permeate through your soul and force you to undergo personality shifts so drastic that the next morning when you wake with such inhibited repercussions, you are robbed of reasoning and realize that whatever cool blockade you've put up for yourself has been utterly shattered during your drunken stupor.

My dear sister Rukia urged that I should "go out and enjoy myself" but I highly doubt that I'd enjoy myself with a woman that hardly knows how to properly tie her shihakushō so it isn't so blasé. Lieutenant Madarame said that I don't know what I'm missing and 3rd Seat Ayasegawa deemed me as a "killjoy". Because I don't feel like I am in a particularly punishing mood today, I've decided I shall pass those remarks off as "drunk peasant's talk"—Ayasegawa, especially.

Instead, Rukia and I enjoyed a quiet night of experiencing small sips of the Kuchiki clan's finest saké—it's more pleasant and flavorful than any other shoddy liquor you would find in any bars—Inuzuri or elsewhere.

Because I am generous brother-in-law and captain, I let Abarai join in—although I positioned him just so that he was sitting in his proper place—the farthest corner.

Also, I've yet to forgive Rangiku for this implication of stupidity and the little stunt she pulled with the nude vases.

Did you know she was the one who designed them?

Chapter Text

I have decided I shall start off this entry with a question.

Do you know how to fillet a fish?

I personally have never done something of that nature, but since I am the head of Kuchiki clan, I am knowledgeable in the subject.

Let me explain.

First, you must cut off the head, right below the gills.

Next, take care to hold the fish by the tail and use your knife to guide your blade down the length of the fish to where it's head used to be.

Then you must insert the knife between where the skin and flesh meet, and then while gripping the skin, slice in the direction of the former head.

The fish has now been filleted.

Now, please put these same terms (save for gills and tail) in the terms of a person.

A person known as Renji Abarai.

I understand that unfortunately, many of my reflections include him as a subject, but seemingly, my lieutenant-now-brother-in-law has found far too many ways to pervade my life. Also, I have found that he is becoming increasingly easy to blame.

Now, let me return to my subject of filleting Abarai.

I suppose I should give you a valid reason why I am planning to do so.

I shall tell you why in three simple words: Rukia is pregnant.

That may not exactly dictate why Abarai should be filleted, so I shall elaborate in four more words: Abarai is the father.

There.

Do not misunderstand me. The pregnancy of my dear sister brings me copious amounts of joy. The idea of being an uncle satisfies me greatly, and I am sure that the child will be as wonderful as her mother.

But why must Abarai be the father?

After I'd sentenced Abarai to a lifetime of underground tunnel cleaning with the 4th Division (which he took in stride, assuming that I had been joking), Rukia assured me that I had been overreacting, but I guaranteed her that I am not.

Why should I tolerate the man that impregnated my sister?

She then reminded me that they were married; such announcements were bound to occur.

I was forced to admit that those were true. Nevertheless, I still do not appreciate them. Rukia is still a child, and immature; Abarai, although loyal to a fault, is inexperienced and too eager.

Perhaps . . .

That will make their parenthood interesting?

I shall hover like the eagle over them, and will always make sure them—Rukia, in particular—are always in impeccable condition. Doing such will ease my worries, I do believe.

And just perhaps, Abarai will not make a horrible father.

My conscious tells me to retrieve him from the underground tunnels, but I shall leave him in his duties for a short while longer.

He still must be punished for berefting my sister of her innocence.

Chapter Text

Captain-Commander Shunsui Kyōraku has officially made his way to the list of "People That Byakuya Kuchiki Has A Certain Disdain For".

I have not yet fully forgiven him for announcing Kurosaki and Abarai's absurd "'donut', red bean paste, and 'ketchup'" dish as first place in the Gotei 13 Cooing Competition, but today, he has been accused (in my humble opinion) of committing a grievous insult against the Kuchiki name.

As you know full and well, my dear sister, Rukia Kuchiki, is the captain of the 13th Division of the Gotei 13 and has currently been impregnated by her husband, Renji Abarai. I have made it in my best interests to keep Rukia and her child safe for the entire length of her pregnancy and every day thereafter (for those of you wondering, yes, I have finally excused Abarai from his duties as a 4th Division tunnel-cleaner).

In doing so, I have brought my petition of removing Rukia from her duties of captain for an entire year—so she will have time to recover and spend time with her child once she's given birth—to the Captain-Commander.

As a nod to my title as head of the Kuchiki clan, I was admitted into his office swiftly, although the entire process of even asking him any sort of question was far from quick. I had kept an eye on the clock, and it took a total of four minutes for Kyōraku to finally acknowledge my presence in the room. I am not used to being ignored, so it came as quite a shock.

"Hey, what are you doing in here, Kuchiki?" he'd asked, his words slightly slurred as if he'd been drinking recently. I was not surprised.

Because I am no disrespectful animal, I bowed my head ever so slightly, and replied, "I have come to ask that the 13th Division captain, Rukia Kuchiki, be removed from her position of captaincy for the time frame of one year."

The Captain-Commander scratched his head in confusion. "You want your sister to be revoked of her captain position for an entire year?" He paused, and stretched, giving a loud yawn. "Hmm . . . I'll think about it." He then looked up, as if any trace of pondering my question had flown out the window. He grinned, reaching over and waving a jug of saké—the cheap kind, from Inuzuri—at me. "Care for a drink?"

It was then that I made my leave.

I found myself fuming over his answer in the confines of my room.

"I'll think about it."

I find such a response ill-fitting of a Kuchiki, even if it was given from someone with such a position of Captain-Commander. It is a disregard for respect, pride, and other such enduring requirements.

My other regret is that I cannot punish Kyōraku in a way true to anyone that has insulted the Kuchiki name because he is the Captain-Commander, and therefore, in a far higher position than me.

Oh well, I shall perhaps then take out my anger and frustration out on Abarai instead.

Chapter Text

Few things annoy me—I like to consider myself poised, yet apathetic, with few cares in the world.

Yes, I am aware, Abarai annoys me, my lack of knowledge regarding the word "hip" annoy me, 3rd Seat Yumichika Ayasegawa annoys me, Lieutenant Rangiku Matsumoto annoys me, Ichigo Kurosaki annoys me, not being addressed by my proper title annoys me, Abarai annoys me, Yachiru Kusajishi annoys me, Captian Kenpachi Zaraki annoys me, coming in second place annoys me, "donuts" annoy me, Captain-Commander Shunsui Kyōraku annoys me, Yoruichi Shihōin annoys me, Kūkaku Shiba annoys me, Ganju Shiba annoys me, Ikkaku Madarame annoys me, oh, and I must not have repeated this enough times, but Abarai annoys me as well.

But nothing annoys me more than a banana shortage.

Well, Abarai annoys me, I would think, a bit more than that, but I shall overlook that for the time being. It adds to the extremity of this problem.

I have a personal affinity for the yellow fruit (Bananas, not Abarai. I would like to point out that he is more of a red pineapple in many aspects.), and in the Kuchiki manor, we are never at a loss for bananas imported from District 1 of Junrinan, farmed by an aristocratic family who have been producing high-quality bananas for generations—bananas that cost nearly 400 kan apiece.

There is never a price too high for bananas.

And I have been informed, that today, because of a certain 10th Division captain's temper, the trees that the family uses to grow the fruit have been frozen to the point where they are dead to the world and little can be grown on them.

Because of such conditions, I will be deprived of bananas until the next growing season.

No, I will not be taking my dear sister Rukia's advice and just "go buy bananas elsewhere", because it is practically civil law that bananas grown in District 1 of Junrinan are the only ones fine enough for members of the Kuchiki clan to consume.

I almost saw Rukia ingest a banana handed to her by Captain Kotetsu (Rukia had been ordered by the 4th Division to pay a visit to check up on her pregnancy) the other day, and just by looking, I could tell that it was not the kind from Junrinan. I shunpō-ed to the area immediately, before knocking the fruit out of Kotetsu's hand. I shudder at the thought of even touching a banana that is not Kuchiki-certified, but I took such a sacrifice because my sister needed to be protected.

I have set up an urgent meeting with Captain Hitsugaya to berate him for freezing the family's banana farm—and to force him to find me an alternative supply of bananas with the same quality as the ones from Junrinan.

If he can't, him and his Division will experience firsthand the harrowing effects of Senbonzakura's Shūkei: Hakuteiken.

Chapter Text

I have received an odd visitor today.

No, it was not a visit that I had been expecting, nor had it been one that I longed for.

To be perfectly frank with you, it was a visit that I most certainly detested.

Yoruichi Shihōin dropped by the Kuchiki manor this morning at sunrise and removed my kenseikan from my bedside table. How she got into the manor and then into my bedroom, unfortunately, is a mystery to me, and the guards manning my private chamber door have yet to reveal anything, saying that they saw nothing. My hairpieces were later found lying uncared for in the training grounds that I had once practiced in many years ago.

Next to them lay a note, reading:

Wow, Byakuya! Stealing your kenseikan was almost as easy as robbing you of your hair tie! You really need to step it up!

P.S You look just like a girl when you sleep. :) You really haven't changed much, have you—you looked like a girl when you were a kid, too!

I don't recall every giving her the permission to address me as simply "Byakuya", nor will I ever admit to looking feminine, either now or when I was young, either. Honestly, after the Shiba clan, I do believe the Shihōin clan will be the next to go if Yoruichi keeps this up.

I sent out another fleet of guards to find her and force her to apologize, but as they came back empty-handed, I am apt to believe that she ran with her tail-between-her legs (no, not in her unbecoming cat form) into the World of Living. I am certain that she is far too frightened to stay in the Soul Society and face my wrath. She is wise in that respect, I suppose.

It really is unfortunate, though, as although I am a master in such regard, I have taken again to perfecting my shunpō and am assured that I would beat her if she were still in the Soul Society. Pity, as I already had Senbonzakura Shūkei: Hakuteiken ready to impale her when I instantly would have instantly caught up to her had she arrived to seek her punishment.

I assume you know where this entry will end because it seems to be quite customary when I am upset:

Perhaps I shall retreat to punish Abarai since my anger cannot be applied to Yoruichi.

Chapter Text

I have made an astounding discovery today.

Save for Rukia, the rest of my fellow Captains are idiots.

But at the same time, seem to have displayed a level of insight today that I wish I had possessed—even though it pains me grievously to say so.

Captain-Commander Kyōraku had called an urgent Captain's meeting, but once Rukia and I arrived to the meeting, he was nowhere to be found.

I suppose some of the other Captains had expected the Captain-Commander's absence, as Captain Muguruma, Captain Ōtoribashi, Captain Yadōmaru, Captain Hirako, Captain Kurotsuchi, Captain Zaraki, Captain Suì-Fēng, and Captain Iba had yet to arrive to the meeting as well. I would have done the same had I been a disrespectful fool who did not have the gall to perform his duty as a Captain of the Gotei 13, but as I sat in the 1st Division barracks, I wondered if my valuable time would even be well spent in coming.

Captain Hitsugaya arrived after I and Rukia and had seemed even more supremely annoyed than he usually appears, and I had to practice a very high level of self-control as to not impale him—not because of his visage, but because he has yet to provide me with another supply of bananas after he had frozen the last set in Junrinan.

I heard my dear sister, Rukia, who happens to be the only sane person among the Captains (besides me), ask the young Captain as to what had gotten him so upset.

His face soured even more as he answered, "Rangiku."

Ah. I understood immediately. Matsumoto was beneath the ants that crawled along the soiled ground—in my humble opinion. I then did Hitsugaya a great favor, for his annoyance was one I could empathize with: I mentally forgave him the banana incident.

Captain Kotetsu had arrived fourth and was smiling far too brightly for the occasion.

"Does anyone have any idea as to why the Captain-Commander called the meeting? He said it was pretty urgent," she asked.

Hitsugaya seemed too preoccupied with his well-deserved anger toward Rangiku, and I prefered to exude my stoicism, so it was Rukia who answered. She was very kind in doing so and smiled politely at the 4th Division Captain.

"I'm not exactly sure," she replied, nodding her head. "But it must be important if he called an emergency meeting." She glanced around the room inquisitiveley. "But where are the rest of the Captains? And the Captain-Commander?"

Not surprisingly, a very drunk Kyōraku arrived that second with a bottle of saké in his hands and was spouting incomprehensible, drunken mumblings.

"Hey—what're you guys doing here?" he slurred as he stared at us in confusion.

It was then that my patience broke. I had spent nearly an hour waiting for this, and he had the impudence to call an emergency, get drunk and then not remember why he called the meeting in the first place? That was unforgivable, but I was far from the position to berate him. "Captain-Commander," I announced, allowing not an ounce of emotion seep into my voice. "Was there a point you wished to make after assembling the Captains at such an inconvenient time?"

Rukia, Hitsugaya, and Kotetsu watched expectedly as Kyōraku's eyes closed and he took a swig of his bottle. "No idea. Guess I forgot. You're all free to go."

After the debacle, I informed Lieutenant Ise regarding her Captain's behavior.

I hope he will be punished accordingly.

Chapter Text

Many customs found in the World of the Living have wormed their ways into the very fiber of the lives of members of the Soul Society.

Much of such trivial traditions were brought through Ichigo Kuroksaki's meddlings, but I can't give the Substitute all the credit.

This time, it was my dear sister, Rukia.

It was strange, seeing her short frame drag a tall Fir tree through the Kuchiki senkaimon, Abarai huffing in tow with an overly-large box of strange, colorful baubles.

I didn't want to question her, Rukia normally has good reasons for everything she does, so I merely watched from the shadows as she shuffled the large tree over to a corner and shoved Abarai over so he could help her haphazardly hook the small balls onto various branches. Her eyes glittered while doing so, and seeing her like that brought me such immense joy that I could forgive the countless needlelike leaves littering the floor and ornate rugs.

I said nothing as Rukia and her husband continued to cover the tree in the colored orbs, every so often stepping back to admire their very strange work. I felt no need to interrupt them. It was a dedicated pace—Abarai handed Rukia a ball, Rukia hung it on the tree, Abarai handed Rukia another ball, Rukia peered at it for a second before pelting it back at Abarai, complaining about how he was handing her too many of the same color. Then the cycle continued.

I saw Abarai grimace as he handed Rukia another item to hang on the tree. Judging from her squeal, it must have had some sort of Chappy the Rabbit design on it—her sense of aesthetics no doubt proves she is a Kuchiki. As my sister hung it on the tree, I garnered that I was only partially correct—strange, I know. Instead of being a sphere as the rest of them were, this object was the rabbit that my sister fawns over, but it included another small statuette hanging from it, too—the glorious Seaweed Ambassador.

A small flick of feeling enveloped me—I suppose you could denote that I was touched. If Rukia was willing to hang Chappy on the tree, the hanging of the Seaweed Ambassador (I don't believe that sounds right) must be quite an honor. It was very kind of her to think of me.

It was then that I suppose Rukia noticed my presence (no, it was not because I was sniffling and blinking back tears).

"Oh, Brother! I didn't see you there!" She and Abarai stepped back from the tree and she held her hands out proudly. "Do you like it?"

I blinked. It was not becoming of a Kuchiki clan leader to cry in front of others—or even at all. "Of course."

Rukia grinned widely and began to explain the variety of items she had strung on the tree—dubbing them as "ornaments".

Ichigo Kurosaki then decided to ruin the moment by barreling in through the senkaimon (whoever gave him permission to use it must die), buried under what looked like mountains of containers and boxes. A putrid smell of oil followed him.

I pinched my nose delicately, breathing in the soft sakura scent permeating the sleeve of my kimono instead.

Before I could question his arrival, Kurosaki dropped his heavy load onto the floor, a greasy substance leeching out of the boxes and onto the silken rugs. I glared at him.

"You idiot!" Rukia cried, scooping up the boxes. "You're going to get everything all dirty!"

Abarai huffed at Kurosaki and hurried to help Rukia. "Yeah, and what took you so long? We asked you for these boxes hours ago!"

Kurosaki glowered. "Sheesh, ungrateful much? It's Christmas Day—there was a four-hour line at KFC!"

I believe it was my turn to berate him. "Ichigo Kurosaki," I thundered, looking him in the eye. "What are you doing in my house?"

He ignored me(!) and turned to Rukia with narrowed eyes as he slipped back into the senkaimon, probably in fear of my very terror-inducing presence. "You didn't tell me he was going to be here!"

Rukia turned red and held up a fist as she yelled at the last figments of Kurosaki's appearance, "I thought it was common sense! If you're going to deliver fried chicken to my brother's house, then, of course he's bound to be here!"

I breathed through my mouth and covered my nose. "Rukia," I began. "Why did Kurosaki bring such a foul-smelling substance into the manor?"

Before Rukia could answer, Abarai cut it. He flipped open one of the boxes in his hand and pull out what looked like a fried piece of poultry. "It doesn't smell too bad, Captain. It's mostly just greasy. That's the World of the Living for you."

Rukia rolled her eyes at her husband before bowing her head in my direction. "Forgive us, Brother. I heard that in the World of the Living, they celebrate Christmas with," she gulped, "Kentucky Fried Chicken and trees."

"And presents," Renji added.

My sister's words sounded foreign to my well-intoned ears. "Christmas?"

Rukia nodded fervently. "Yes, it's a holiday in the World of the Living where everyone celebrates each other's company and exchanges gifts. They spend time with family and friends and make it a point to have a good time."

"I see."

She jumped and fished something out of the pocket of her shihakushō. "I almost forgot to give you this—it's a Christmas present." My dear sister gestured around the immaculate grounds of the Kuchiki manor. "I didn't believe there was anything that you could possibly want, Brother, so . . . I tried to find something that would make you happy instead. I—I hope you like it."

In my hand, she placed a small rendering of my late wife, Hisana. It was a picture that I already had countless copies of, but this one was hardly the size of a persimmon.

"I know you already have lots of pictures of my sister, Brother, but I thought maybe you would want a small one that would maybe fit in the pocket of your haori, so you could always have it with you."

Sweet memories cascaded through my mind of my wife, and I was instantly filled with a solemn gratitude. I had never thought of having a photo rendered so small that it would constantly shield me. Another onset of tears pricked my eyes, but Rukia had the brains to pretend that they weren't there.

She is wonderful.

I was not above a simple phrase of appreciation. "Thank you." What my sister had done could hardly be repaid with words, but I swore it would be repaid soon, as I had nothing to give her now.

Perhaps . . .

"Abarai."

He paused in his poultry consumption and turned to look at me with curious eyes. "Yes, Captain?"

I closed my eyes and held out my hand. "Hand me one of those."

Rukia's eyes sparkled again, as her husband cautiously handed me what she had previously dubbed "fried chicken." The greasy, battered skin was slick in my hand and the smell was far below the fresh and spicy smell of koi. Normally, I would never dare put such a food in my mouth. It was far below that of a Kuchiki.

"Rukia, I believe you said that Christmas was a time to celebrate with family and eat fried chicken, correct?" I handed her a separate piece of poultry and paraded over to the colorful tree. "Then let us begin."