Great Precision and Considerable Bitterness

Silently Nagisa stood in front of the weapon’s rack that held the replica of the Zanpakutou of all the captains of the Fifth that had come before her. She didn’t know just how much time she had spent staring at the copy of Aizawa’s sword but she was sure that in her future she’d rack up the count even higher. It was simply too hard to belief that the stalwart, even stoic, man who had stood tall and proud was suddenly gone. Swallowed by his darkness. Fallen victim to his soul’s own weakness. Slowly Nagisa reached out and picked up the blade. It was heavy and far too long for her, but had seemed just right at his side. Pulling the blade from his sheaths just far enough to find her reflection glimpsing back at her the Chinda realized just how much she missed him. She paused. Did she really? Or was it just that within the span of a few days her life had become so woefully different that the absence of those whom she had thought to lean upon hurt doubly so. With a snap she returned the sword to the scabbard and placed it back upon the rack.

Walking back to the heavy wooden desk, another remnant of the Aizawa rule, Nagisa reached for a set of leather gloves. Wiggling her fingers into their tight form she reviewed her roster. With the acquisition of Nanami she had finally filled her Third Seat and already there were two candidates for the spot of the Fourth. As far as the position of her Vice-Captain was concerned though Nagisa was at a loss. Kasumi was certainly strong enough to make for a decent representative in a fight but her youth and inexperience made it more than doubtful that she’d be able to lead people successfully. Besides her thought all the good candidates were taken. Lost in musings the Chinda’s gloved hands picked up her old lieutenant’s badge, caressed it, turned it over and around as if it told a story. While handling the marred wood in a way that made it seem exceedingly precious she almost overheard the sound of knuckles on her door. Furrowing her brow Nagisa tried to sort in the presence that felt distinctly familiar and yet not at all like one she wanted to welcome into her office. Regardless of it all she gave the command: “Come in.”

When the door swung open Nagisa almost immediately felt as if a waft of pink Reiatsu flooded into the room to usher in its queen. Average height, but much shorter than her, hair as black as her own but perhaps better cared for, and eyes…eyes that seemed much more familiar to Nagisa than they had any right to be. Truly Hazuki was a sight to behold, a cold beauty that was only underlined by her hawk-like gaze and beauty mark just underneath her left eye. Barely the Chinda kept her incredulous right eye brow in check at the sight of the dark rings underneath the flinty grey eyes, instead focused on the fluidity of the woman’s step. She didn’t so much enter the room as she swept into it. And with her she brought a heavy sigh that all but left Nagisa’s chest before she could swallow it.

The Chinda knew that it had been a matter of time, that this visit had been bound to happen sooner rather than later. The question was now though why Hazuki had come. Was she here to continue her infamous streak of putting down young captain’s she did not like, or was her visit of an even more personal note for Nagisa. Softly the Chinda canted her head to the side and allowed herself but a single glance towards a certain sword. Supposedly Hazuki had been the one who had found and engaged Jasper during and after his transformation. If she hadn’t already put down Miyuki as if it was a child’s prattle this was the clear indicator that the haughty looking woman before her packed the skills to back up her ill temper. And as if all of that wasn’t enough already she was also Vice-Captain to the man who, arguably, desired her head on a silver platter more than anyone else in all the three realms. Either way though Nagisa was certain that this visit was not one she would particularly enjoy.

“Welcome, Lieutenant,” her voice was soft, inviting, not completely free of wariness but definitely nicer than one would expect given Hazuki’s reputation and Nagisa’s general situation. For a moment the Chinda wondered why everyone in the world knew that woman’s first name but not her last name. “I suppose you have not come here simply to tell me that the weather machine in the underground facility has finally been fixed, have you?” Once she pointed to a chair at her desk before clasping one hand around the other and leaned back in her chair. Nagisa tried her best at an empathetic smile, to express a care and sympathy she hadn’t felt for anyone but herself in a long time, but most likely failed to come across as genuine as she asked: “What can I do for you today, Hazuki? What’s on your heart?”



876/50=17
Yes, I did pick that phrasing on purpose and not cause I suck at English today more than usually. 

There was no word more suitable for what Hazuki was doing than glaring: arms crossed, feet planted apart, chin raised and the slightest sneer on her lips, she fixed her eyes on Nagisa Chinda with open disapproval. Needless to say, she did not offer a salute of any kind. This was not the first time she had seen this so-called captain, and she was not impressed, nor did she find the woman’s attempt at levity particularly amusing.

‘The Fourth Division maintains and develops Seireitei infrastructure. If the air conditioner for your playroom is malfunctioning, I suggest you hire a janitor, Chinda. It’s none of our concern. What I’m here for is this.’

She unfolded her arms and tossed the envelope onto Chinda’s desk. It landed with a dull smack, and Hazuki’s arms crossed once more. ‘As I’m certain you are already aware, the haori bestowed upon you by Commander Fujikagi has a price: you will be subject to regular testing by the Fourth Division in order for us to learn more about your... Condition. That envelope contains the list of dates and times you are expected to report to us for these examinations. Needless to say, failure to comply will jeopardize the amnesty you have been granted—and your life.’

Appointing Chinda to the captaincy of the Fifth had been a clever move by the Captain-Commander, even Hazuki understood that. A captain was subject to a great deal of scrutiny, which put Chinda in the spotlight as far as the Gotei was concerned, and it also enforced the idea that loyalty to Seireitei would be met with gratitude. The simple fact, however, was that the haori she wore so proudly was little more than a leash disguised as a reward.

Hazuki was reminded, in the brief silence that followed her not-so-subtle threat, of the conversation she had shared with Aizawa in this very room some weeks ago. The eerie parallels were striking: both traitors, but even in that Chinda somehow managed to be worse. She had betrayed the Gotei when she had dabbled in taboo, then she had turned around as a last-ditch attempt at saving her own skin and betrayed the other half-breeds. Treacherous swine twice over, as if the second time would somehow negate the first.

It was something Aizawa had said, however, that had convinced Hazuki to come here in person rather than send someone else to give her the schedule. Nagisa was supposedly quite talented, which meant she stood to catch two flies with one swat: establish the hierarchy and earn herself a sparring partner.

‘With that out of the way, I have a personal request. This is the Fifth Division, its members are known for their martial prowess. Their captain is supposedly the peak of said martial prowess, and as it happens I’m looking for someone to put some theories of mine into practice with. I can think of no-one better than yourself.’

A lie, of course. Hazuki could think of several people better than Nagisa Chinda—her very own captain, for one—but engaging Nagisa had a hidden benefit: if Hazuki were to accidentally end up killing the half-breed, then it would be seen as a tragic accident. If Chinda were to kill Hazuki, Shun would no doubt have her executed on the spot. Either way, the good Shinigami of Seireitei would have one less Vaizard among their ranks.

A win-win.


°567

I will see your germanic idiom and raise you one germanic idiom

The open hostility with which Hazuki met her gaze was almost refreshing. It was direct enough to not let there be any misunderstanding regarding her feelings but neither as thinly veiled as that of many others, nor as pompous attention-grabbing as that of her captain. Just the right amount to underline that she thought of herself as better than most people she met. The fact that the pontifical Hazuki even bothered to address her opening line though brought a smile to Nagisa’s face. Spinning her old lieutenant’s badge once on the wooden desk before placing it in a drawer she regarded her visitor with a glint of amusement in her eyes. Nagisa wasn’t quite sure just why it was so much fun to spite this woman. Maybe because she had little left to lose. “Perhaps I will. Say, you wouldn’t be interested in working for me? I’ve still got some positions to fill, you know?”

Taking great care as not to harm the contents of the package, almost as if it contained an affectionate letter instead of a schedule where they would violate several of her rights for hours at a time, Nagisa retrieved a dossier. “My, my,” the Chinda said and would have let out a whistle if what she read hadn’t twisted her guts into an uncomfortable knot. Taking a deep breath she sought to quiet her heart with another quip. “This is far more than the Captain Commander ever hinted at. Hazuki, if you or your Captain are so keen on spending quality time with me, you could just ask me out for dinner, you know?”

Leafing through the paper Nagisa began to look for something, anything, that bore the Commander’s seal or handwriting. Truth be told, he had mentioned no such thing as tests, and while she did not think it out of the question for him to give the Fourth free reign to ensure that she never forgot her place, she had thought him a better man than ordering all of this behind her back. Perhaps it was time to go see him and have another talk in a setting that did involve several swords at her neck, poised to strike.

The idea of being asked a personal favor by the Ice Queen brought Nagisa back into the present. Blinking thrice her eye brows moved closer to each other ever so slightly whilst her hands smoothened out the papers Hazuki had delivered. She had figured that the woman had come here looking for a fight one way or another, but this…Well aware that the Fourth’s Lieutenant was her better in terms of sheer strength the Chinda took a moment to contemplate the reason for such a request. If she wanted a fight around her own level she would have been better off challenging the Minamoto. Perhaps she was here, like so many before her, to see what it was like to face off against a Vaizard? Physically canting her head to the side Nagisa tried to see things from a different angle. Maybe her motives were simpler. A woman like Hazuki would never hold back against an opponent she despised. And if she killed Nagisa it would be an accident that left few weeping, on the contrary, it might just leave Hazuki with a new Haori. On the other hand, if Nagisa were to fell the woman Shun Minamoto would move heaven and earth with renewed vigor to see her dead.

Either way, there was no way Nagisa could win this.

Then again, going up against seemingly insurmountable odds and still coming out on top was what she did.

“Sure, I’ll do you that favor.”

Rising from her desk Nagisa pulled up to full height and looked down at Hazuki, wondering briefly if that woman would be able to manage to look down at her in turn whilst craning her neck. Probably.

“If you’d be so kind as to follow me to the playroom.”



A wide grassy plane, broken up by the occasional stone monolith, stretched underneath a cloudless blue sky as far as the eye could see. A soft breeze blew from the north, a fact Nagisa acknowledged with a low chuckle of amusement. Walking a few steps ahead of Hazuki the Chinda reviewed what she knew about the woman. She had made Wakahisa, fast in her own right, look like a fool by weathering her blows like a rock in the surf. Moreover, she had survived fighting a masked Jasper. There could be no doubt regarding her strength and hardiness. For the first time in a long while Nagisa wondered if she’d be fast enough to survive a fight. Probably. Maybe. Hazuki played in a different league, but even monkeys fall from trees. Brushing a strand of hair out of her scarred eye she looked the woman over once more, her gaze caught by a flinty grey that seemed so familiar, yet the Chinda could not tell why. Regardless, she was sure that Hazuki was not a better swordsman. She was, however, a mountain equal in size to what Notch had been.

Nagisa smiled.

A silver tantou appeared in her hand and she effortlessly spun it thrice through the gloved hand.

“Ready when you are, Hazuki.”

Patiently the Chinda awaited a reply. Inhaled deeply, steadying her heart, which beat uncomfortably loudly in her own ears. Even the anxiousness in her chest though could not stifle the rising exhilaration that kept the smile edged onto her pale face. Then, with the flick of her wrist, she threw her weapon at the woman’s face. It was a silver gleam that reflected the artificial light uncomfortably and was on course to leave a shallow cut on the other woman’s cheek. By the time the weapon passed Hazuki’s head though Nagisa had disappeared from sight and the swishing sound that had accompanied her Shunpo had barely subsided as she caught her own blade in a reverse grip and slashed at Hazuki’s neck.



1001/50=20; 37
I meet your Germanic idiom and raise you a Japanese one.

A lesser woman may perhaps have offered a polite smile at Chinda’s offer—both of them, even—perhaps a flattered laugh or embarrassed shake of the head. Hazuki knew this as well as anyone. It would have been a fine response to both the offer of a job and the date comment, a perfect defuse of the situation.

Instead, all she gave in response was an expression that all but asked the question Have you completely taken leave of your senses, (though perhaps not so delicately worded) and a curt statement that was far less tactful. ‘Don’t be stupid, Chinda.’ There was an unspoken continuation to the words that Hazuki was certain came across crystal clear: Don’t delude yourself into thinking you have any choice in the matter. The finality of her statement and its implications were absolute—this was not a conversation that would be continuing. All that needed to be said had been said. The lieutenant of the Fourth Division was not here to haggle or negotiate, nor did she have the authority to do so; these were orders from on high in which neither of them had any say—to disobey was grounds for severe punishment.

But this wasn’t anything Hazuki had been unprepared for. There was a trend in captains around here, some more than others, to believe that their authority stemmed from the haori they wore and not the power of their soul. Wakahisa had suffered the same delusion, and Hazuki had cut her down and humbled both her and her division for it, and if Chinda wanted to go that same route then the lieutenant would—as always—oblige her. People would learn to stop making that mistake in time. Perhaps when they realized that her badge was a sign of her respect for her own captain, and nothing else. As an indicator of relative strength, it fell horribly short—as did a fair number of the members of the Gotei’s officer’s corps.

What Hazuki was not prepared for was the almost immediate agreement to her request. She had expected Chinda to say yes, of course (it was impossible, really, for the Captain of the Fifth to turn down a request like that from practically any lieutenant; had word got out it would have shattered her reputation immediately), but she had also expected a delay of some kind. Only now did she realize her reasoning had been faulty: she had assumed the Captain of the Fifth had something, anything, better to do than to indulge a fellow officer’s request to engage in senseless violence but—

Well, Hazuki was young and naïve. It didn’t always show, but the fact was inescapable.

As Nagisa rose, Hazuki’s expression remained impassive, clearly not impressed. Being tall, or even muscular, didn’t mean much as far as spiritual entities were concerned. Captain Kachekiwa had been an adolescent little girl with enough power in her fingertips to level mountains; Nagisa Chinda’s stature was not imposing in the slightest, and it was abundantly clear Hazuki felt that way.

The underground training facility was reminiscent of many of the other similar facilities—some official, some not—that were scattered across Soul Society. If Hazuki’s history wasn’t completely off, it was a construct that had been pioneered by the Fourth for various off-the-book uses, and the idea of having an expansive, yet contained, chamber for large-scale projects or training was appealing enough for the idea to catch on. This one in particular was the type Hazuki liked to classify as a simulation: it aimed to recreate a generic battlefield, ideal for the Fifth’s intended use. She scanned the surroundings, noting the rock features and the grassy loam. There was something special about fighting on grass; Hazuki’s mentor had always insisted on training outdoors. It may have had something to do with the form her Shikai took—calling it a fire hazard was a massive understatement.

‘First off, the rules of engagement:’ she began, not bothering to tell Nagisa she was ready. That much was implied by the drawing of her sword, the same familiar peace washing over her as soon as she put her hand on the pink silk. Her heart rate fell, her breathing slowed. It felt a lot like the moment before she drifted off to sleep, something that had occurred to her only after she had woken from the three days of unconsciousness she had suffered after her defeat at the hands of Chinda’s predecessor. ‘One, no holds barred. Holding back won’t help either of us, but keep in mind that neither of us are here to kill the other.’

Her head tilted to one side as the tantō whistled through the air harmlessly past her face, and Hazuki was already turning, the blade in her hand suddenly lighter than air. It came up effortlessly, parting the air with a high-pitched whine and it came to a sudden halt as it met Chinda’s slash. Hazuki held it there for a moment, their tsuba grinding against one another, her eyes calmly seeking out her opponent’s.

‘Two, if I see that mask of yours even for an instant, I’m going to put you down like the rabid dog you are. I hope that’s clear enough for you.’

She stepped forward, shoving Nagisa’s blade up and backwards, and decided to test the waters a little. Hazuki liked adapting her approach to best suit her opponent—she had met Shinpei’s rigidity with a blatant departure from the norm, just as she had undermined Wakahisa’s pride with incessant mockery. All she knew about Chinda thus far was that she was fast, but how did she respond to something outside her comfort zone?

Their blades were high already, and just as with Shinpei, Hazuki brought the hilt of her sword down swiftly, aimed at her opponent’s face in a smashing motion. In the instant before it made contact, something in her surged, and suddenly her Zanpakutō had regained its weight and then some. It was that eerie flux of a spiritual entity’s physical attributes that had compelled her to challenge Chinda to a practice match, and she saw no reason not to begin testing it immediately.


°1,030

Nagisa had expected Hazuki to dodge her throw, yet seeing the other woman do it so effortlessly still stung a little. Immediately she buried that feeling, right next to the hope that this wouldn’t end in an exceedingly painful way for her. “You want me to give it my all but not use the mask?” the Chinda’s tone was sweet, nonchalant, hid the strain of trying to match Hazuki’s brute strength well: “I am afraid you may pick one of the two, my dear.”

If Nagisa was perfectly honest with herself the second rule did not come as a surprise, especially given Hazuki’s affiliation, but it somehow still managed to disappoint her. After having come to terms with the fact that most people these days came not to meet her, but to witness the mask she had almost gotten used to accepting it as normal. More than that though, seldom she had the chance to go up against someone in Hazuki’s league. The sheer notion of going all out and testing her limits was something that excited her more than she was willing to admit, especially since she suspected Hazuki capable of taking it all and then some. Alas, because of stubbornness, disgust, pride, fear, or whatever really, Katsumi would have to take a back seat. Neigh instantly Nagisa felt the fire of excitement in her chest dim somewhat.

The change in the flow of Reiatsu was the first thing Nagisa felt, Hazuki’s motion came a heartbeat after that. Typically she was, despite her unusual height for a woman, the smaller party in a fight, seeing the start of a move she herself used in a role reversal was an interesting experience. One that instantly filled her with a sense of urgency though, for Nagisa knew what followed soon after. For shorter than the blink of an eye her silhouette flickered as she sidestepped the attack to the left. Placing her left hand near her face to catch any sudden elbows Nagisa pulled her tantou out of Hazuki’s way. While the Lieutenant’s attack crashed into the face of a motionless after image the Chinda dragged her blade over the triceps of her right arm. She had seen the amount of punishment Hazuki was able to withstand when she had faced off against Wakahisa. Her best hope was to score some hits that would bleed and drain those powerful arms of some strength.

Continuing her step past Hazuki she pivoted on her left foot in order to be at the woman’s back. Changing the grip on her blade Nagisa steadied her breath and checked for blood.


435/50=8; 45

The hilt connected, but was an unsatisfying blow. There was something fake about it, and the feeling was compounded by the faint flicker of a short blade in the light that was visible through Chinda’s shattered face. Before the afterimage her opponent’s shunpo had left dissipated, the tip of Hazuki’s sword—light again—was already beginning its wide arc as she reversed her grip, expertly switching the position of her hands as it spun around from high to low in an instant. The blade was a circular blur as it came up under her arm, gently tapping the tip of the disproportionately long hilt of Chinda’s sword, knocking it up and off Hazuki’s arm, leaving nothing but a superficial cut.

‘Don’t entertain the delusion that your mask is anything but a liability born from your lack of willpower, Chinda,’ she replied, the edge in her voice brought about by her recollection of Aizawa’s fate.

Chinda’s style, if Hazuki could put it like that, was a disappointment. For the alleged captain of the Fifth Division, Hazuki had expected more than someone who spent the better part of an engagement fleeing—as it stood, even Shinpei Minamoto, shiftless and lazy as he was, would have been a better fit. When it came down to a clash of wills and weapons, he had the good sense to face it head-on and with a certain vigor. If Chinda’s speed was her strongest suit, then Hazuki was starting to think she was in the wrong division. Aizawa, at least, had been able to rely on a level of skill that soared above them both, but Commander Fujikagi’s pet half-breed was a disgrace to the haori she was wearing.

If Chinda wanted to play a game of tag with Hazuki’s sword, then so be it.

The underarm thrust backward was immediate; with her blade already inverted all Hazuki had to do was stab—her reach was a great deal longer than Chinda’s, and she had seen the pivot her opponent was making out of the corner of her eye. There was no calculation, no careful extrapolation of movement to determine precisely where Nagisa would be—those were crutches for people who lacked feeling for swordplay. For Hazuki, wielding her Zanpakutō was instinctive, like walking or breathing. Nobody counted their breaths. Nobody measured their footsteps.

They simply acted, and Nagisa Chinda would very soon learn that standing behind Hazuki was not much safer than standing in front of her whenever blades were involved.


°416

Edit: Hazuki hating on my style. Dont she know that:

hydra-media.cursecdn.com/dota2.gamepedia.com/7/72/Dkseer_move_10.mp3


A thin coat of crimson covered her blade, barely enough for a handful of droplets and yet it somehow was remarkable to Nagisa. If Hazuki, who had in all prior engagements appeared as an unstoppable force and an immovable object, could be made to bleed then perhaps then perhaps she was completely out of her league, as Nagisa had originally thought. What did that mean, in turn, for the skills of Captain Wakahisa though?

It was not without a certain sense of wonder that the Chinda observed the effortlessness with which Hazuki operated her blade. In one moment the stainless steel seemed to carry the weight of the world, enough force to cut through stone. In the next though, it was near weightless, more akin to a feather than a tool for murder. Nagisa had seen a variety of styles in her time. Fujimura’s championing of the basics, Kinoichi’s favoritism for battoujutsu, the instinctual thrashing that passed for swordsmanship amongst the Espada, the exquisite work of Jasper Aizawa…Hazuki’s work was unlike no other though. No, that was not quite right, if Nagisa was perfectly honest. While nothing about her moves themselves was exotic, the way her blade changed from threatening to gentle in the blink of an eye bore the familiar resemblance of watching Jasper perform his routine. Back then Nagisa had been unable to deduce how he did it, and he had merely smiled and promised that in time he’d teach her. That time would never come. And whether or not Hazuki made for a poor substitute she was yet unable to tell. One thing was for sure though: Nagisa would have much preferred to learn this lesson from Aizawa.

Dropping the tantou from her leading hand the Chinda leaned sideways as the sword came surging towards her stomach. Turning on her left foot Nagisa minimized her front, caught her own weapon in the left while her right materialized her zanpakutou’s sheath – just in time to safely channel Hazuki’s raw power away from her arteries. A horrible screeching sound echoed across the plane as the blade, slightly longer and larger than her own, Nagisa now realized, was forced into the narrow hull. Neigh immediately numbness began to spread through her fingers as the sheath vibrated in agony, causing her to pull back as if she had touch hot iron. At least that ought to buy her a moment’s respite from the continuous onslaught.

Gritting her teeth the Chinda closed her right fist to prevent the sensation from spreading up her arm whilst angling her left downwards, not unlike a western fencer, and upon an unspoken command her silver tantou stretched, lost all color until it was pitch black, and aimed it at her opponent’s left Achilles tendon. Within a heartbeat the blade faded away. Sword reverted to tantou and it was silver in color once more. A beat of sweat formed at Nagisa’s brow as she realized just how close she had come to losing an appendage. Somehow though, it was the same thought that solidified the smile on her face.


512/50=10; 55

The screeching of Hazuki’s blade entering the sheath Chinda had pulled from nothingness grated on her ears, but the action itself was not a point of concern; a Zanpakutō’s saya was inordinately fragile compared to the blade it usually carried, and although Chinda employed a trick Hazuki was intimately familiar with—hiding a short blade in a long sheath—what struck the lieutenant was how misguided her usage of it was.

The vast majority of Shinigami carried identical sealed Zanpakutō at their sides, and to differ from the norm was an asset to be exploited. Hazuki’s blade was a little longer than the norm; her cuts had more reach and more power. For someone like Chinda who carried such a short blade and relied so much on speed, it only made sense to rely as much on the element of surprise as possible. That was the whole point of a long sheath: a deceptively fast draw. Ending it before it had even begun.

Throwing it—as Chinda had done—was moronic, because it completely erased any advantage the surprise could possibly have granted. Shinpei would have mentioned it, and unlike his comment about where and how to parry a cut, he would have been completely correct.

Hazuki was far less generous. If the captain of the Fifth Division wished to put herself at such a disadvantage, it was her loss. She may have had technical skill, but she had no feeling for swordplay. Her expertise didn’t extend further than whatever instruction she had received, and at once Hazuki realized that Jasper Aizawa’s praise of this woman had been either misguided or unfounded.

Perhaps both.

The surge of spiritual pressure yanked Hazuki back to the moment, and with Chinda’s sheath still wedged firmly on her blade, she pivoted, the point dipping low and swiping her opponent’s sword aside with the loud clack of lacquered wood striking metal just as Chinda’s blade shot forward into the ground. An unspoken command it may have been, but Shikai was not something so easily concealable. Just as with Shinpei there had been warning, and just as with Shinpei that same gnawing feeling of envy crept up on her. She buried it, but the cryptic hint her anonymous Zanpakutō spirit had breathed into her ear surfaced somewhere in the recesses of her mind, hazy and unclear. Her name remained a mystery.

Idly Hazuki wondered just how far the influence she exerted on her blade extended. She had spent hours upon hours experimenting with the weight and its distribution, but the form of it appeared quite fixed, not entirely unlike the feeling of her reiatsu; as if it was some crystallization of the divide between Zanpakutō and Shinigami. It made sense from a theoretical perspective, of course: her Reiatsu had remained unchanged since her childhood, as had her blade since the spirit had inhabited the Asauchi. One was tied to Hazuki’s identity, the other to the identity of her sword.

Hazuki’s parry had put her sword between the two combatants, half-sheathed blade pointing off to the side with the tsuba square in front of her opponent’s chest, and it was with some satisfaction that she thrust it forward forcefully at Chinda’s solar plexus, all its weight concentrated very suddenly—with no conscious exertion on Hazuki’s part—on the black-and-silver disc that separated blade from hilt. She was getting better at this. Dodging at this range—even with Chinda’s affinity for maneuverability—was going to be impossible no matter what tricks she pulled out of her sleeve. The only question was how many ribs Hazuki would break.

Not too many, she hoped, eyes flinty. She didn’t want to put her sparring partner out of commission just yet.


°620

>my face when

Sometimes a gap in skill could be overcome by brute strength. Other times a gap in strength could be bridged by skill. There were, however, those precious moments that humbled a person completely, and that was when facing an equally skilled opponent with a Goliath’s advantage. Anguish, dread, despair, but also excitement, exhilaration, and loathing, a full cocktail of emotions, pumped through Nagisa’s veins as she saw with which dexterity Hazuki knocked her blade off course again before leveling her own. There wasn’t enough time for the grim smile that tried to spread across the Chinda’s thin lips, nor for the curse that formed at the back of her mind. Instinctually she threw her body to the side, but as fast as she was: there was no outrunning this.

With far more strength than a woman of Hazuki’s frame should have been able, no, allowed to muster the tip of the saya stabbed at Nagisa’s ribcage, breaking two or three in the process before sliding up and dislocating the arm with a disgusting popping sound that caused the Chinda to bite her lip. Then, equally carried by the force of the blow and her own Shunpo, her feet left the ground, causing Nagisa to fly backwards in a low arc. Twisting her body midair she managed to land on her feet with a catlike grace, an image that was immediately ruined though by the deep traces her feet left in the grass as Nagisa came to a halt. Dodging backwards would have cause less damage. Then again, who could have foreseen that Hazuki was that much quicker than her up close – or that she would stop after a single stab? With panting breath the Chinda took a damage assessment.

Every gasping attempt for air sent a searing pain through her chest, the right arm hung more or less uselessly at her side, but all in all…a low chuckle escaped the pale face. It had been worse before. And this could have been worse still. The tantou disappeared and Nagisa raised an index finger as if she were politely asking for a moment. Carrying herself to the nearest man sized boulder she inhaled deeply before aligning her shoulder and throwing herself against the stone. A grimace of pain rushed across Nagisa’s features and her eyes blinked away a tear whilst a long drawn hiss was meant to air the pain out of her system. Rolling her shoulder probingly the left hand wandered across the section of her torso that was rapidly turning to from a pristine white to an ugly purple. Suppressing a wince the Chinda applied herself at Kaido to at least ensure that the ribs were mended. The last thing she needed in this fight was to have her breathing hindered and run out of steam right in front of Hazuki’s blade.

“I’ve seen that swordsmanship before,” Nagisa said, her voice carrying the strain of stomaching the injury. “You’re not quite there, but perhaps it pleases you to hear that what you’ve got so far feels quite close to the real deal.” Patting against her ribs she breathed into the previously affected area as a test. Still bruised, but as far as the fight was concerned as good as new. “What’s off, I wonder?” Cracking her neck the Chinda nonchalantly began to close the distance. “Perhaps it’s the transition. Not quite as effortless as his was. Not quite as graceful either.”

Slowly Nagisa began to circle her opponent and after the third step her movements ceased to create sound. “I have never had the privilege of sparring Minamoto, so I hope that eventually you will stop trying to impersonate my captain and will show me some of yours.” Her Reiatsu too flickered and then faded away. Except for the sound of her voice Nagisa could have been a mirage. Then, through the varying cadence of her step and artfully wrought Shunpo, when the Chinda took her next step she was trailing doppelgangers. It took eight to completely encircle Hazuki, all moving at the same lazy pace, all brandishing the same silver sword. As one though they turned, rushed at the woman in their midst from different angles, their unity broken as each swung their weapon differently.




710/50=14;69
yup

Hazuki wasn’t quite sure which was the more appropriate comparison: the ebb and flow of the tide, or a sorbet served as a palate cleanser. The former was a stark contrast between high and low intensity, the latter a way to nullify competing sensations, to isolate each course and let it speak for itself.

The quick break Hazuki and Chinda had taken from the calculated violence—in silent agreement, like a natural pause between breaths—was somehow like both and like neither. There was a faraway look in Hazuki’s eyes as she pondered it, absentmindedly erasing the tiny cut on her arm with a glowing fingertip. A train stopping to pick up passengers, perhaps? A momentary lapse in hurtling down the tracks at breakneck speed?

She shook head head lightly, pushing it from her thoughts. It didn’t matter.

Nagisa was saying something over by the rock she had used to relocate the shoulder Hazuki had (quite satisfactorily) dislocated, but the lieutenant wasn’t listening. No doubt it was some remark designed to dull the sting of her own embarrassment, and Hazuki had no interest in entertaining such trite conversation for the sake of soothing the ego of a half-breed. She was here for a singular purpose, and it was that purpose that made Hazuki inspect her blade carefully as her opponent prattled on about something or other.

Weight had been the easiest to shift; what had been a conscious effort on Hazuki’s part was now closer to a natural result of the way she handled her Zanpakutō—it had become a reflection of underlying intent rather than an overt decision. As spiritual beings, so much of what they were was metaphorical: a pristine uniform was an indication of good health, the sword a hint at their identity, and their appearance a picture of their self-image. The weight of the Zanpakutō she carried was as fluid as her mood, just as in flux as how Hazuki wore her hair.

She swung her sword to and fro cautiously, feeling just how hard the saya had been jammed onto it, and then she raised it to her face, edge up, peering intently at it. Her brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and slowly the sheath seemed almost to melt off the blade before it dropped to the ground, cleaved neatly in two lengthwise. The exposed edge of the sword looked no sharper than usual, but there was something else there; a keenness that went beyond the physical. She twirled it in her fingers, and the unnatural ease with which it sliced through the air raised the hairs on the back of Hazuki’s neck. A faint smile touched her lips, and finally she turned her attention back to Chinda, who had finally started moving more than her mouth again.

Hazuki only caught the trailing end of what her opponent was saying, but it made her roll her eyes as the illusions of Nagisa Chinda began to encircle her. She wanted to see what Shun would do?

Fair enough.

Her blade spun parallel to her body, once, twice, then then it slammed into the ground like a meteor, blunt and impossibly heavy. The earth shook violently, the wave of pressure expanding outwards at blinding speed and overwhelming force, carrying bits of dirt and rock like shrapnel, and almost instantaneously the fragile images of the half-breed in the haori shattered, inundated by the sheer violent force, leaving only one: the real one.

Hazuki’s body moved, her sword following in her wake as she begun a long arcing slice, both hands securely wrapped around the hilt and the air screamed in agony as she cut it apart. Strong, fast, sharp—

All words that fell hopelessly short of conveying just how lethal she was in that instant, her irises filling with pink and her spiritual pressure roaring as the cut threatened to bifurcate her oncoming opponent.

Ask and ye shall receive, she thought, unsmiling. My very best Shun impression. All I’m missing is a one-liner.


°665

There was efficiency to Hazuki’s response that was very much in line with her character. However, the gracelessness of it formed a stark contrast. Perhaps that was the Minamoto impression Nagisa had asked for? Even if that was true though, it somehow felt lacking. She had only seen the man fight a few times and yet something was missing. Was it the incessant wisecracks? Probably. The silent arrogance Hazuki wore like her very own Haori suffocated all thoughts that this could be fun and entertaining. Instead it carried the unspoken promise that slip-ups regarding the ‘no kill’ rule could happen at any time.

One by one the clones vanished, their flimsy Reiatsu core utterly disrupted by Hazuki’s shockwave. For the second time when fighting an opponent of this league Nagisa made the mental note that this trick needed revision. Perhaps it was useful against a foe of similar strength, but as she saw the light-pink aura of Hazuki gain in intensity she was woefully reminded that she was severely outgunned. And, perhaps, even outclassed.

Leaning backwards Nagisa could feel her muscles scream in agony as the effect of shunpo surged through her body. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl and Hazuki’s blade was still unnervingly and unerringly on course. Nagisa’s senses were heightened, electrified, and she thought to almost feel the wind Hazuki’s sword was parting as it flew. Muscles contracted, she tried to flatten herself and angling her blade she sought bring metal between flesh and steel. The Chinda’s eyes, however, were pinned on her opponent as her body dipped low enough just in time that the two blades grated against one another. Briefly Nagisa caught her own reflection in the polished steel, then the alien Reiatsu washed over her. The callous nature that hid underneath the otherwise perfect appearance was bone-chilling. The hard look in the flinty grey eyes, one Nagisa pinned somewhere between disgust and pity, eerily reminded her of another man – but as quickly as the sensation had come it left.

Still alive.

Passing underneath the lethal arc that would have cut a mountain Nagisa had managed to traverse her opponent’s effective range. Invigorated by the sheer fact that she still drew breath everything seemed brighter and more colorful for a brief moment. Then the Chinda’s short blade shot forth to stab Hazuki in the heart, even though she was not yet sure if that was an organ the other woman truly possessed.


409/50=8; 77

This time, there were sparks. Pink and glorious they glowed as they scattered in every direction off the grinding of the two blades as Hazuki’s sword passed over Chinda’s bent form, the void in the air that followed in its wake leaving Hazuki breathless. A pattern had emerged early in this session, and now it had become fully clear; the words came to Hazuki as easily as turning the pages of a book.

‘Your captain didn’t like it when I called you a degenerate half-breed, Chinda,’ she began, effortlessly tugging her sword back in front of her, just far enough for the tip of Chinda’s own blade to bite into the bottom half of Hazuki’s hilt. The silk, ray skin and wood beneath it was soft enough to accommodate the point and keep it from sliding off as Hazuki held against it, her right hand still wrapped around the pink and the other pushing on it from the opposite side of where the two swords touched. It was an elegant move, made all the more elegant by the fact that with just a little exertion of will she was able to lock the tip of Chinda’s blade there, as if it were stuck in bone.

It gave Hazuki just enough time to voice her thoughts.

‘But that’s exactly what you are. Everything about you is indecisive. Whether you lack the means to commit or simply the constitution for it I can’t say, but you are, at your core, irresolute and vacillating. Your entire existence is half-hearted’—if only Hazuki had known what that term had once meant to a certain group of people and the deep irony of using it to disparage Chinda—‘and it shows in all you do. You call yourself the captain of the Fifth Division, but you prance around like some stricken hare instead of facing your enemy as any true leader of the Fifth would do. You call yourself the Smiling Blade but you are utterly incapable of bringing that blade to bear in any meaningful way. You may as well be called the Smiling Sandal, because all you do is run.’

Any other person may have betrayed a passion in their eyes as they laid out their innermost thoughts like this, but not Hazuki. Hazuki’s eyes were colder than ever, the flat grey like a boreal tundra edged in the warm pink of overflowing power. She moved in closer, maintaining the lock on their swords, her eyes a picture of purest disdain, like an emperor of ancient Rome giving a gladiator the thumbs down to the roar of the crowd.

‘Jasper Aizawa, at least, stood his ground. He may have been a part of the same cancer that you are, but he knew his role better than you ever will, and he stuck to it. He committed. You can’t even decide whether or not you want to keep your Zanpakutō released, whether you want to flee or fight, or even which side you’re on.’

Almost satisfied, Hazuki shoved the sword lock backwards hard, releasing the point of Chinda’s blade and swinging upwards with the hilt and tsuba, aiming her hilt-borne uppercut straight at her opponent’s chin. The whorls and eddies of the displaced air caught in the strands of Hazuki’s long black hair making it dance, and her concluding remark shot out of her mouth.

‘You’re not respected in that haori, Chinda,’ she said. ‘You’re tolerated in it.’


°574

Over-confidence was a slow and insidious poison. As was hope, and even though Nagisa had entertained the notion of being able to land a hit for only a heartbeat it was still rattling to see with what precision Hazuki halted her blow. She hadn’t merely deflected it, but caught it with the hilt of her sword, inches away from her fingers. Feeling her heart sink and enthusiasm flicker Nagisa finally understood why Wakahisa hadn’t only looked defeated but destroyed. Fighting a gloating opponent like Hazuki was not enjoyable. “Yare, yare…”

Sticks and stones may break my bones, Nagisa thought quietly to herself and tried to block out the woman’s words, unsuccessfully. But words, they hurt forever. It was then though that the Chinda realized what grated her even more than losing to Hazuki as badly as she was. Jasper had, until the end, stood up for her, lauded her skills and defended her persona. By performing as poorly as she did it felt as if she were dishonoring his memory. Gritting her teeth Nagisa tried to reignite the flame in her gut with that thought, fought the leaden shackles Hazuki’s words sought to apply.

“My, my,” Nagisa replied, a beat of sweat rolling down her face, a strain to her voice. “The last time I saw pretty eyes like yours they held a certain elegance, even wisdom. But you’re just ugly to the core, aren’t you? Hearing you call me rotten almost feels ironic.” Rushing sideways to escape the hilt the Chinda raised her left hand and caught the attack, cushioning the blow to her face but also breaking her hand in the process. Clenching her teeth against the pain Nagisa took another step, then two and bathed the bones in a soft green glow.

Turning her face into the wind she let out a deep sigh. Nagisa had known that facing Hazuki like this was an uphill battle. Still, she had hoped to perform better than this. Even then though she had been prepared to endure the taunting, the abrasive tone, and the scalding look and simply treat the loss as a particularly harsh lesson. Somewhere down the line, however, things had changed. It wasn’t the first time people doubted her like this, but it definitely was one of the most vexing ones. Doubly so at this was probably just what Hazuki had intended. Deeply Nagisa inhaled and asked herself if she was willing to stick to the original plan, or willing to up the ante in the vain attempt to defend the honor of those who had paved her path and Aizawa’s legacy.

Leaning her head this way and that way Nagisa thought it over. The actual Aizawa would probably have stuck to the plan. He had been stern and stalwart like that, hadn’t cared what other people thought of him because he knew his own worth. Stepping into his footsteps meant forming a smile and enduring a little longer. Then again, that wasn’t the Jasper she wanted to remember. The man Nagisa had sworn to follow stood tall and proud, answered challenges and showed the world the meaning of strength. A chuckle escaped the Chinda. She truly was half-hearted. Flexing her fingers she tested the hand. All good again.

“Alright, Hazuki, you have soundly scored round one,” gripping her blade with two hands Nagisa could feel Miko stir excitedly while Katsumi pouted: “Let’s hope round two proves more entertaining for you. Bankai.”

A black fire with streaks of white enveloped Nagisa, seemingly dissolving the woman before revealing her reborn form. No drastic change in outfit or attire was immediately apparent, but the white of her skin seemed whiter, and the black of her hair darker. Only at the second look did it become obvious that all other colors had been drained from her form, save for the eyes. The silver tantou too had been replaced by the black Katana and as Nagisa lowered her blade a Taijitu rotated before her chest before imprint on her chest.

Inhaling and cherishing the joyous moment as cold strength stung in her limbs Nagisa inhaled deeply before assuming her stance. Dropping into a partial crouch, both knees bent, she drew her right arm back whilst extending the left forward. Grasping the kashira of her katana with the right whilst the fingers of the other hand extended towards the tip of the blade, resting against it, the Chinda’s eyes focused on her opponent. Nagisa could feel the tension building up, not between her and the other woman, but within the deepest core of her body. Controlling the explosive energy of Shunpo she contained it within herself. Then she stepped again the raw energy making it hard to keep her blade steady and aimed. Relishing this moment of tension, like a brow drawn taught, the Chinda stepped a third time, and released.

Melting the distance between Hazuki and her in the blink of an eye Nagisa’s blade surged forth, ready to spear the other woman.



832/50=16; 93

Overreliance on Bankai, it seemed, was a systematic flaw present in the junior captains. Like Wakahisa, Chinda had decided to go (what she must have considered) all out with little regard to what exactly that meant. Beneath the sting of envy, there was a rational process in Hazuki’s mind that didn’t have to work very hard to convince her that the statements she had made earlier had been dead-on.

Yes, Hazuki was beautiful on the outside and an argument could most certainly be made that she was ugly to the core, but she told—in most situations, at least—the truth. The truth made people uncomfortable; the knowledge of what someone else thought unnerved them and they often found themselves wishing to unlearn it. Hazuki had been perfectly honest in her assessment of Nagisa Chinda, and she suspected that was why it had cut so deep. The very nature of a half-breed was built on that foundation—on self-doubt and self-loathing. Hazuki, however, didn’t hate herself. She didn’t love herself, either; she simply recognized that she was the person she was, a product of a long string of events and circumstances. Hazuki knew better than anyone that she was cruel, authoritative, bitter, and mean—it was a truth that she had long since come to accept. Turning resentment inward was childish, and Hazuki may have been many things, but a child she was not.

Twice now, she had told so-called captains of the Gotei exactly how she saw them, and twice they had responded poorly. Twice, they had attempted to hide behind their Bankai, and twice Hazuki had remained...

Unimpressed.

Bankai was supposed to be the ultimate expression of a Shinigami’s power, yet now—as with Wakahisa—she was instead only struck by the distinct feeling that this was not nearly enough, that two fifths of the Gotei’s captaincies were being filled by little girls who played at soldier for the entertainment of those around her. Even now, with something as staggering as Bankai, Chinda’s spiritual pressure fell short of Hazuki’s, and Hazuki hadn’t even attained Shikai, let alone released it. She was left with a cryptic riddle with an obscure answer while incompetent fools like the good captains of the Third and Fifth Divisions were waving around half-baked imitation Bankai.

It vexed her, because she knew that the answer was within her grasp, and yet she found herself unable to reach out to it. Named after the month I was born, she thought acidly, not out of anger or spite but out of irritation with her own seemingly lacking faculties. Was the third month of the calendar, repeated ad nauseam in multiple languages and even for different calendars somehow not enough?

Finally Chinda seemed ready to continue after her pointless posturing, and Hazuki—

Well, Hazuki did what she did best. Their blades touched as Hazuki parried from the side, brushing her opponent’s blade away from herself with ease despite the sudden surge of speed and strength Chinda displayed, but there was something in the pink fireworks of the clash that caught Hazuki’s eye. She hesitated, delaying her riposte. The blonde girl. She had brushed cherry blossom petals from her hair. They had been falling around them like snowflakes, and—

Yayoi was wrong. Of course it was wrong. It had been the other name.

‘Yume o miro,’ she murmured, her eyes wide in realization as the cold grey in her irises practically shone deep pink.

‘Sakurazuki!’

Her heart seemed to stop entirely as her spiritual pressure exploded outwards, enveloping both her and Chinda and covering the landscape in the inky swirls. Elation filled Hazuki’s mind, surging into every inch of her body as the feeling of completeness, of wholeness rocked her to her core. Chinda and Wakahisa could both keep their diminutive Bankai, this was what a real release was.

She watched as droplets of viscous red liquid started forming on the blade of her Zanpakutō—no, on Sakurazuki—and instinctively she knew. The sheer perfection of it struck her as so deeply right, so fitting, that she couldn’t help but grin. She had grasped it at last.

She disengaged from Chinda, her grip on the pink hilt light and comfortable as she took a few steps back, blade at the ready, the liquid weeping off it like some ominous poison.

‘Once more, Chinda,’ she said. ‘With feeling.’


°728

I come with evil memes

As Nagisa watched how Hazuki hit her blade at just the right angle to have the entire force she had gathered behind the thrust run empty she realized that she had gone about this all wrong. Against Notch and Nebula she had needed to be fast to engage them on her terms. Against Sobek and Luna, and even the masked mortal she had needed strength beyond her normal means to land a decisive blow. Graced with the speed to evade all enemies life had thrown at her, and armed with a thrust that penetrated all it hit, Nagisa had taken on the world and won. Perhaps that had made her grow content. Fighting opponents that either rivaled her in power or skill but never both she had gotten away with employing tricks and making a fight look more like a game. Hazuki though had a well earned reputation as game changer. As if to underline the gap between them a tenderly whispered word reached Nagisa’s ears, and then a pink Reiatsu exploded with strength, enveloping them like a storm of Sakura-petals.

This did not feel like a Shikai. However, it was not quite a Bankai either. Warily the Chinda raised an eyebrow and canted her head ever so slightly. Whatever it was that oozed from that blade, it was bad news, that much was for sure. “Yare, yare…” Trying to downplay her own frustration Nagisa mumbled to herself. She couldn’t think of many ways that she’d be fast enough to avoid the spray of this liquid completely, yet rolling over was decidedly not her style. It’s hard to be thankful to be shown your limitation when the person who does it deserves to be taken down a notch so very much.

Moving her blade in a short flourish Nagisa assumed stance once more. Again she stepped, but contained the power inside. Preparing herself for the inevitable a thought crossed her mind. Would training with Kiriko have played out like this? She resisted the urge to shrug. It probably would have involved more bruises and less banter. Perhaps even an ounce of praise every so often. All in all though, not the worst day of my life. She stepped for the second time and could feel the surge of strength spread through her body. The key to this would be timing and Reiryoku.

Nagisa sped forth, her figure a blur. Again her blade was pointed at Hazuki’s sternum in order to bait the anticipated response. However, having pulled back a step in truth it was but a doppelganger that had been solidified by her Bankai’s touch, just enough to give corporal properties. It was designed with the purpose of baiting the parry and catching the strange liquid. However, bereft of much of her momentum Nagisa now had to twist her upper body in order to translate as much of the strength and energy that her Shunpo generated as she could. Penetrating her own image her sword was aimed at Hazuki’s inner right thigh with the intent to see the woman bleed.


510/50=10 ; 103