In the blink of an eye, a month had passed.
Between classes and sweeping floors in the Fourth Division, Ichirō's progress in alchemy had been minimal.
But he didn't mind. He knew perfectly well that this was a necessary first step toward truly joining the Fourth Division.
After all, what were the main duties of the Fourth Division?
Daily cleaning, medical treatment, health maintenance, and emergency response.
Most of the emergency work required them to rush directly to the battlefield, and for that, being intimately familiar with the layout of the Seireitei could save countless lives by cutting down travel time.
Still, today would be his last day of sweeping. His application from a few days ago had just been approved—starting tomorrow, he would be reassigned to the Medical Unit, finally beginning formal training under the division's veteran members.
That was one of the benefits of not skipping grades.
Students who accelerated through their studies—unless they were absolute prodigies—always had to start from the bottom when joining a division. And given how differently the Shinigami perceived time, "starting from the bottom" could easily mean ten or twenty years of grunt work before earning recognition.
Only interns from the academy enjoyed special treatment.
Unfortunately, most students couldn't see that far ahead. To flaunt one's genius was the fastest way to gain both fame and fortune—and in a place like the Seireitei, a society steeped in nobility, it wasn't uncommon for an aristocratic family to take a talented youth under their wing, whether as a foster child or as a son-in-law.
For most commoners, that was a direct ascent to greatness.
And since the noble houses encouraged this social trend, every few years they would "promote" a handful of promising prodigies—whether truly deserving or not.
---
As Ichirō stepped into the Fourth Division compound, he shot a disdainful glance at the broom he'd left in the corner yesterday.
"Hmph. From today onward," he muttered, "I'm never touching a broom again."
His status had changed.
"Hey, you there," someone called out behind him. "Don't just leave your broom lying around—return it to the storage room."
"…Got it, right away."
Well. Maybe just one last time.
After tidying the broom away, Ichirō made his way toward his new assignment—the Health Department.
Within the Fourth Division, each department had its own duties: medical care, healing, logistics, or health checks. Normally, they worked independently, but in times of emergency, everyone could be reassigned into a single emergency response team.
Occasionally, the captain or vice-captain might reshuffle personnel at random to test adaptability, so Ichirō even ran into a few familiar faces—those who, like him, had once swept streets not long ago.
He greeted them warmly. Unlike at the academy, his social life here was much smoother.
Though still casual in attitude, Ichirō found the Fourth Division's atmosphere pleasant—no arrogant elites or petty schemers, just genuinely kind people.
"Ah, Ichirō, you're here," said a woman in a Shihakushō, her black hair tied back and a pair of glasses glinting on her face. "Come, I'll show you the duties of the Health Department."
"Thank you, Sister Kiyone," Ichirō replied respectfully.
"Don't be so formal," she smiled. "Follow me."
Amane Kiyone—a seated officer of the Fourth Division, ranked twenty-third. Her combat ability wasn't particularly impressive—her Kidō skill, from what Ichirō had gathered, capped around the fiftieth level, and she hadn't yet achieved Shikai. But in the Fourth Division, that was hardly unusual; combat power wasn't the measure of worth here.
Where she excelled was in healing. Her proficiency in Kaido—the healing branch of Kidō—was exceptional. So far, she had answered every single one of Ichirō's complex questions on the subject with remarkable ease.
That was no small feat.
Ichirō's talent for Kidō bordered on absurd. In just one year, he had mastered every spell up to #30—and could even perform them without incantation.
And that was without focusing his full effort on Kidō. His true priority remained alchemy; Kidō was only a supplement to his research.
Even so, most academy instructors had to consult reference texts before answering his more advanced inquiries—including questions on Kaido.
Kiyone, however, could respond immediately.
Granted, lately she'd started hesitating more often, much like the professors back at the academy. But she had held her ground for a full month—a feat only a handful of sixth-year instructors could match.
That was precisely why Ichirō had chosen to intern here: he'd already drained the academy faculty dry of answers.
---
"The Health Department's job is simple," Kiyone explained as they walked. "We conduct routine health checks for members of the other divisions and record the data."
She showed him the logbook in her hands. "Occasionally, we'll have to treat a few who've overtrained—that's when Kaido comes in. But that shouldn't be a problem for you. Most days, all we do is record results."
"Every day? That many patients?" Ichirō asked.
"Pretty much," she nodded. "With thirteen divisions constantly training and taking on missions—some quite dangerous—it's a continuous cycle. Each member's checkup happens once a month, but the visits are staggered, so there's always someone coming in."
Ichirō's eyes lit up.
A living database of physical and spiritual data? This was exactly what he'd been hoping for!
As expected, the Fourth Division was the perfect place for him.
He followed Kiyone throughout the day, recording medical information while secretly memorizing patterns and compiling useful details for his own research. Whenever Kiyone performed healing spells, he watched closely, studying her spiritual control and spell structure.
And so, Ichirō settled into a steady rhythm: academy—dormitory—Fourth Division.
His daily hours in the division were limited, but his gains were enormous. His earnest attitude won him favor among the seated officers, and several began mentoring him after work. Under their guidance, his Kaido improved dramatically, which in turn refined his understanding of Bakudō and Hadō.
Yet not all news was good.
As his power grew, Ichirō could sense a subtle but undeniable shift in the atmosphere across the Soul Society.
Tension was mounting.
The number of wounded from divisions other than the Eleventh had sharply increased, and patrols around Seireitei had doubled. Everything pointed to the same conclusion—something big was coming.
A battle seemed inevitable.
Still, as he'd told himself before, none of this concerned him directly. He was just a second-year student. Ichirō continued training according to his own pace.
---
"Ichirō… my name is Se—… call my name… reshape me… Ichirō… my name… call my name… I've been waiting for you… Ichirō…"
At dawn, Ichirō slowly opened his eyes.
He turned his gaze toward the Zanpakutō resting beside his bed, his expression complicated.
An entire semester had passed, yet the voice in his dreams had only revealed two new syllables.
The name of his Zanpakutō still eluded him—
and Shikai remained a distant dream.