Stepping through the Senkaimon, Ichirō felt an unexpected pang of disappointment.
If possible, he had hoped to encounter Kūto, the monstrous Hollow recorded in the archives of the Soul Society. From what the texts said—its power to disintegrate all matter could have provided invaluable insight into his ongoing research in Reishi Alchemy.
But after arriving in the Human World, he quickly realized that wish would have to wait. Encounters like that weren't exactly part of an Academy field trip.
---
In truth, even those records about Kūto were likely flawed. Whoever wrote them had fallen prey to a conceptual illusion—a misunderstanding of observation.
The reports claimed Kūto devoured "all forms of matter," but that had never actually been verified. Everything within the Soul Society was composed of reishi spirit particles. Any physical being or object entering from the Human World had to be converted into reishi in order to pass through the Dangai safely.
In other words—Kūto had only ever consumed reishi. There was no proof it could devour ordinary matter at all.
That was Ichirō's hypothesis, at least. He'd need to meet the creature in person to confirm it. But given their current mission, that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.
---
Their group emerged onto a quiet, grassy plain. Not far away stood a small village—wooden houses, thatched roofs, smoke curling faintly from chimneys.
For many of the students, this was their first time visiting the Human World. Though some of them, like Ichirō, weren't originally born in the Soul Society, the Human World they remembered came from different eras—so even they gazed around with a mix of nostalgia and awe.
"Alright, everyone, eyes here."
The leading Thirteenth Division Shinigami clapped his hands to gather their attention. "We'll begin by demonstrating a proper Konso—a Soul Burial."
At his signal, another Shinigami sprinted off toward the nearby village, while the leader stayed behind to explain the basics.
"After death, the soul can take two forms," the instructor began. "A Plus—what we call an ordinary spirit—and a Hollow.
"A Plus can be further divided into two kinds: those with lingering attachments, and those without."
He pointed to his chest. "What separates them is the Chain of Fate that once connected their soul to their body. Regardless of attachments, that chain is always severed upon death.
"However, when a Plus clings too strongly to its regrets, that broken chain begins to corrode. Once it fully disintegrates, the soul loses its form and transforms into a Hollow."
He turned toward the students. "That's why Shinigami must learn to identify those with strong attachments—approach them carefully, gain their trust, and help them resolve their regrets. Only then can they be purified through Konso.
"For spirits without attachments, a simple touch with the pommel of your Zanpakutō is enough."
While he spoke, the other Thirteenth Division member had already entered the village. He knelt beside a small girl crouched in the corner of an alley, arms wrapped around her knees, face buried.
The man smiled gently and crouched to meet her eyes. "Hey there, little one. What are you doing here all alone?"
"I… I'm waiting for my papa…"
"Waiting for your papa? I see. Do you want me to help you find him?"
"I… don't know where he went…"
"Hmm, I might've seen him on the way here. Can you tell me which direction he went? What does he look like?"
At those words, the girl finally lifted her head—and the entire class gasped.
The Chain of Fate on her chest had almost completely corroded. Only one short, fragile link remained.
Still, the Shinigami kept his voice calm and gentle. "A red kimono, you said? The kind samurai wear?"
"Mm-hm," she nodded. "Papa went that way… Mama said only warriors can wear red… I've been waiting… four winters already… I miss him so much…"
Her voice trembled, fading into sobs. The Shinigami smiled faintly, though his eyes grew heavy with sorrow. "A red warrior's robe, huh? I think I might've seen someone like that. Wait right here, I'll bring him to you, okay?"
He patted her head softly, then turned back toward the group, his expression shadowed.
"Captain," one of the other Shinigami murmured.
The leader sighed. "Go ahead."
Ichirō and the other students exchanged confused looks. They didn't yet understand what that meant.
The leader turned to them and explained quietly, "This village was a battlefield years ago. That child's father is long dead. Even if he weren't, with the girl's chain that far gone, she wouldn't last much longer.
"Sometimes… a kind lie is gentler than the truth."
Ichirō's gaze lingered on the departing Shinigami. He began to understand why that man specialized in illusion-type Kidō. Still… there was a more direct—though far crueler—solution he didn't mention:
Allow the girl to become a Hollow… then purify her.
The result would be the same—her soul sent to the Soul Society—but the process far less humane.
So Ichirō merely sighed. At last, he understood the essence of Soul Burial training. It wasn't about technique or precision—it was about empathy. About fulfilling a Plus's final wish before guiding them onward.
Whether that next life was better or worse… that was beyond any Shinigami's control.
...
By now, the illusionist had returned to the girl's side. He knelt and gently pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry… I came late."
"Papa… I missed you…"
Under the illusion spell, his appearance had shifted—his face now the mirror image of her father's.
As she smiled through her tears, the last link of her corroded chain began to mend. Before she could react, the Shinigami pressed the hilt of his Zanpakutō against her forehead.
"Forgive me…" he whispered.
A soft blue glow enveloped her. The girl's body dissolved into motes of light, drifting peacefully toward the sky.
From a distance, Ichirō and his classmates stood in silence, watching the light fade.
For the first time, they truly grasped what it meant to be a Shinigami—not just wielders of swords, but guides of the dead.
Something quiet and heavy took root in their hearts.
---
In the following days, as Ichirō predicted, every assignment involved similar cases—souls with regrets, pain, or broken attachments. None were simple.
And to Ichirō's surprise, the students never actually performed any Konso themselves. The Thirteenth Division members handled every case. Their job was only to observe… and learn.
Until the very last day.