"Hey, kid! Get up! You'll die like that!"
Lifting his heavy eyelids, the boy named Taka, clutching an old, worn longsword, raised his head warily, looking up at the tall figure before him.
It was a sturdy old man carrying a bamboo basket on his back. His bald head was covered by a huge straw hat, completely blocking the clumps of snow falling from the sky.
He wore a thin cotton jacket, stuffed with straw stalks that were visible inside. Over it was a tattered straw cloak, covered in accumulated snow, looking riddled with holes and drafty...
But compared to Taka, who was huddled against the wall wrapped in a straw mat, his hands and feet already purple from the cold... it was an enviably warm outfit.
For an instant, a flash of greed crossed Taka's eyes.
He thought about knocking the old man unconscious and taking his clothes, or threatening him with his sword to get some food...
But he gave up on the idea.
It was simply too cold. His hands and feet had lost all feeling... he wanted to speak but couldn't make a sound, wanted to move but couldn't muster the strength.
'Maybe he was right, I was going to die...'
'If I was going to die anyway, why bother doing these things...'
The old man looked at Taka, whose lips were purple from the cold and whose gaze was unfriendly, and furrowed his brow.
'This kid... this was the fourth day he'd been here...'
He wasn't the type for blind charity, but this snow didn't show signs of stopping. To just watch a life fade away before his eyes... even Buddha would be displeased.
After a moment's thought, the old man bent down, intending to pick up the frail Taka. But the weakened Taka flinched violently.
That alertness, barely able to hold himself up yet still clinging tightly to his sword, made the old man pause for a moment. Then he spoke, "Don't overthink it. I just don't want you dying on my doorstep."
Saying this, ignoring Taka's still anxious and dazed expression, he scooped the barely conscious boy into his arms and trudged step by step towards his own shabby little courtyard.
…
When Taka regained awareness again, he found himself lying in a simple mud hut.
The firewood inside crackled and burned, the warmth it gave off making the blood in his entire body come alive again.
He licked his lips, still tasting a hint of rice, and noticed an empty bowl on the small wooden table beside his bed.
'That old man saved me?' Taka found it hard to believe. The next second, he shot straight up.
"Where's my sword!"
"On the cabinet."
On the other side of the mud hut, the bald old man was leaning by a wooden shelf, his face stern as he sorted the wintergreen herbs he'd gathered in his basket.
Hearing Taka get up, he didn't even lift his head, just tapped the cabinet surface with the small knife in his hand.
"I don't get it, a kid who can't even get a proper meal, what do you want with such a broken sword?" The old man said with a disdainful glance at Taka before continuing to sort his herbs.
Taka ignored him, scrambling off the bed, stumbling over to the old man's cabinet, and grabbing the longsword, completely black, its scabbard somewhat damaged, pulling it tightly to his chest.
Seeing his sword was safe, he breathed a sigh of relief, then looked nervously at the old man.
After a moment's thought, he bowed respectfully and silently.
"..." The old man remained stern-faced, speaking coldly, "Get back in bed and lie down. You just ate something. Later, I'll give you some medicinal soup. Once you're recovered, get lost!"
Hearing this, Taka showed no dissatisfaction, but obediently did as he was told, wrapping himself and his longsword up tightly, as if cherishing every bit of the hard-earned warmth.
His name was Nanajuhachi Taka. (T/N: Nanajuhachi means 78.)
He couldn't quite remember his past clearly anymore. He only remembered that he wasn't from this world, but a wandering spirit from the Rukongai.
The Rukongai was the residence in the Soul Society for souls not yet sent to the living world. From District 1 to District 80, the further you went, the worse the public order, environment, and resources became...
Taka had been captured by someone in the Rukongai, sold into the hands of a seemingly refined man with glasses, and through some evil experiment of that man, was thrown into this place, becoming a person of flesh and blood.
It had been three months already. These three months had been harder to endure than three years in the Rukongai.
He had fought stray dogs on the street for food, stolen valuables from well-dressed townspeople, and even used this longsword, which had come with him to this place, to fight vicious street thugs, barely managing to survive until today.
But this winter was just too cold. He couldn't hold on any longer.
'I wonder... if I die here, will I go back to the Rukongai? District 78 is crappy enough, but at least it's not this cold...' Taka thought to himself, unconsciously pulling the corner of his blanket tighter.
Pat-pat.
Done sorting the herbs, the old man casually brushed the miscellaneous dust off his body, put his bamboo basket back in its place, moved it closer to the fireplace, and rubbed his not-so-warm hands over the heat.
"Kid, what's your name?"
"... Nanajuhachi Taka."
"What kind of crappy name is that? Your father's name is Nanajuhachi Something?"
"... I don't have a father."
Taka looked at the ceiling, responding with a nonchalant tone, "I was born in District 78 [Inuzuri], so my surname is Nanajuhachi."
"... District 78? And where's that?" The old man didn't dwell on Taka's words, asking casually while starting to roll a cigarette from coarse tobacco. "Doesn't sound like a name from around here. Are you from overseas?"
"Hmm... who knows..." Taka didn't answer directly.
District 78 was one of the areas with the worst public order in the Rukongai, where food and water resources were monopolized, and bandit organizations ran rampant. Every day was filled with fear and anxiety.
But he didn't want to tell the old man about this. He didn't like showing a pitiful, crying-weakling side.
Time passed in a strange atmosphere.
The old man didn't actually drive Taka away, just letting him stay.
A few days later, Taka had fully recovered physically, but he didn't choose to leave. Instead, he silently helped the old man tidy the house, chop wood, start fires, and quietly watched the old man's actions, learning how to sort wintergreen.
And so, the old man and the boy strangely got through the winter together, as makeshift partners.
Until a few weeks later, when Taka was home alone organizing the medicine shelf. The sun slanted westward, but the old man still hadn't returned from the dense forest.
Worried, Taka strapped on his longsword and started asking the neighbors if they'd seen the old man. But their answers were the same as what Taka knew: the old man had gone into the forest to gather herbs and hadn't returned. This made Taka increasingly uneasy.
"Tch... old man... don't you die out there..."
He waited until nightfall. When the old man still hadn't returned, Taka couldn't bear it any longer and decided to follow the direction the old man usually took to look for his trail.
The cold winter wind whipped up countless fine ice crystals, stinging Taka's skin through the thin cotton clothes the old man had given him, a bone-chilling cold.
Deep snow piled up beside the giant trees that blocked out the sky, making every step incredibly difficult for anyone walking.
Taka trudged through snow deep up to his calves, one step deep, one step shallow. Freezing snowflakes slipped through his pant legs into his shoes, melting then quickly refreezing, sticking unpleasantly to his thin socks, but he paid it no mind.
"Old man! Old man, where are you?!"
He tried to discern any possible footprints in the snow, but it had been snowing all day, and any traces were covered. Finding nothing, he could only raise his voice and shout, letting the sound echo through the empty forest.
But the deeper he went into the forest, an inexplicable sense of unease began to surround him. It felt like something ahead was pressing on his heart, making it hard to breathe.
He had seen vicious thugs, fought the most possessive stray dogs, and even escaped from a bear's grasp, but it was never a feeling like this.
If he had to describe it... it was like the discomfort he felt from that creepy guy with glasses in his vague memories, the one who had subjected him to cruel torture...
Shouting and moving forward like this, Taka's step suddenly halted abruptly, his nose twitching intensely.
'The smell of blood...'
Having lived in the constant struggle and plunder of the Rukongai since childhood, this smell was as natural to him as air. He couldn't be wrong!
'Had something happened to the old man?!'
Thinking this, a jolt like an electric current ran down Taka's spine. Then, almost scrambling on all fours, he lunged towards the direction the smell was coming from, heedless of whether snow would soak his cotton clothes, or if branches would scratch his face.
When he circled around several thick ancient trees, using the moonlight filtering down and the reflection off the snow, he finally saw clearly what lay before him.
That bald old man carrying the bamboo basket was lying on his back in a pool of blood in an extremely twisted position!
The accumulated snow was stained red in large patches, and the dark liquid had even formed red ice crystals on the surrounding bushes, a ghastly sight!
A huge gaping wound was torn in the old man's neck, his trachea and splintered bones hideously exposed to the air. His dilated pupils stared blankly at the sky, filled with terror and shock.
"Old man!" Taka's voice carried a tremor he himself didn't notice.
'Damn it! Was it a bear? Or something else? I should have gone into the mountains with the old man!'
The bloody scene before him churned his stomach, a strong urge to vomit rising in his throat.
He had seen people die of starvation, illness, even suicide by hanging, but he had never seen such a horrific scene. Panic and grief welled up inside him.
Not just in the past few months, but even counting all his time since being born in the Rukongai, in all these years, he had rarely met a 'good person' like the old man, someone who spoke harshly but genuinely cared for others...
'Being thrown into this world, to receive such a small warmth, was such a lucky thing...'
'But now, it was suddenly gone just like that? I hadn't even had time to ask the old man's name, hadn't even said thank you!'
However, before the immense sorrow could completely engulf him, that intense sense of unease suddenly exploded beside him!
"Hehe... another fresh little one....."