As he walked up the marble steps to the entrance of the magnificent edifice that was the Soul Reaper Academy, Byakuya Kuchiki exuded sanguinity and held around him an air of such authority as the Academy hadn’t seen since the days when Yoruichi Shihoin was a student there. Flanked by bodyguards, he looked a plenipotentiary on official business. Only a lot smaller and clad in the same kind of clothes as everyone else. Despite all that, to say that Byakuya Kuchiki stood out from the crowd was an understatement. He was the focus of attention of just about the whole Academy during his brief journey from the front gate to his classroom, and especially in the classroom.
“You may go,” Byakuya said, dismissing his guard with a supercilious wave of the hand. “I can take care of myself.”
The guard, comprised of people dressed in clothes similar to the uniform of the Stealth Force, presented a very intimidating picture, and the general impression that everyone got was that Byakuya was not someone to be messed with. No matter how much you thought he deserved to be bopped on the head or tripped.
Byakuya Kuchiki was noble. Byakuya Kuchiki was a noble pain in the ass.
When a girl who had hitherto had a high impression of her looks and deemed them irresistible walked confidently up to Byakuya and asked him if she could sit next to him, he wrinkled his nose and turned his face away from her, as though a foul odor were proceeding from her direction. Said girl’s admirers clenched their fists in indignation and fumed silently in the background, the only thing preventing them from pouncing on Byakuya and ripping his head off being the fact that the sight of his six well-built bodyguards with real Zanpakutō was fresh in their memory.
Byakuya Kuchiki on his part shut his eyes so as not to be able to see the insulting sight of people of lower class standing on the same floor as he. He had argued with his grandfather that he was being trained well enough at home, and lost. Ginrei Kuchiki was of the opinion that Byakuya needed the experience that came with learning in the company of others of his age. That way he would be able to compare his skills with others’. Before Byakuya could riposte, Ginrei did the meanest, lowest thing the head of a noble family could do: he blackmailed him. He told Byakuya that unless he went to the Academy, he wouldn’t inherit the title of the Head of the House of Kuchiki.
He was absorbed in these bitter thoughts when the teacher entered, and thus failed to notice him. It was only when some impertinent bimbo prodded him back to his senses did he realize that he was being peered at by an old man through a monocle.
“I thought so,” the teacher said to himself.
Byakuya suddenly became aware that he was the only one sitting down. The rest had all stood up when the teacher entered.
“You are Byakuya Kuchiki, aren’t you?”
Byakuya hmpf-ed at being addressed so informally but nodded his head all the same.
“While here, I’m afraid, you’re no different from all the rest.”
Byakuya could have snorted if he deemed it acceptable to do so. He didn’t, so he did what he usually did when he got such urges: make it as clear as possible that he was opposed to the notion proposed, and in this case, he did it quite well by narrowing his eyes to slits and shooting the teacher a glare that would have sent a Kuchiki servant stumbling for shelter.
The teacher, however, evidently accustomed to recalcitrance and brats, simply shrugged, as if to imply that Byakuya had no choice.
“Now,” he said. “Do you mind standing up?”
Byakuya weighed the question, and realizing that he wouldn’t be sacrifice as much of his self-respect in standing up as he would in insisting to remain seated, he stood up.
“Good,” said the teacher. Then he addressed the class: “And now, welcome to the Soul Reaper Academy! As you must have realized by now, you are in the Advanced Class because of your skills, which are more advanced than the other students’. However, if at any point I feel that you aren’t doing as well as you are expected to do, you shall be sent to a normal class. It is imperative that you…”
Byakuya ceased to pay attention to the teacher, being fairly certain that his behavior couldn’t be anything less than perfect even if he tried with all his might, and commenced regarding with supercilious insouciance the people around him. Everyone looked the same as everyone else, Byakuya concluded dully. His gaze fell on the head of a boy who owned a mass of shockingly silver hair, and this led him to revise his view. Passing him off as an abomination, Byakuya resumed complementing the infinite, which involved for the greater part picturing himself back at the Kuchiki manor, where he would strut around the corridors with no restrictions whatsoever, instilling fear in the heart of every servant who was unfortunate enough to pass by him. That was a life began to miss already.
“Mr. Kuchiki.”
Byakuya was jerked back to his senses.
“It appears as though you haven’t been paying attention. Do you mind repeating what I just said? And please, for goodness’ sake, stand up.”
Byakuya stood up.
“‘It appears as though you haven’t been paying attention,’” Byakuya said. There. He had repeated what the teacher had said perfectly—tone and all.
The entire class burst into laughter.
“Very funny, Mr. Kuchiki,” the teacher said sourly. “But you and I both know that’s not what I meant.”
Byakuya had realized by now that that was indeed what he had not meant. But the Pride of the Kuchikis prevented him from owning up without a fight.
“That is what it sounded like, and I did answer your question fine,” he said coolly, and the entire class gasped in admiration as well as disgust at his audacity.
“Brat,” some of the geekier ones whispered to their kin. They didn’t like that their favorite teacher should be ridiculed by a student just because the latter happened to have been born to the noblest of the noble families.
Some of the others whooped and cheered, but an indignant glare from the teacher made them realize their place and return to it.
Byakuya, albeit pleased by the appreciation his sarcasm got from the class, preferred not to show it, lest the lower-class people got the misimpression that he was interacting with them. Inconceivable.
“Yes, Mr. Kuchiki,” the teacher went on, taking a deep breath and making a lame attempt at appearing unfazed by the indignity he just suffered, “I’m not done with you yet. We were studying Kidō—theoretically, that is—just in case you weren’t aware.”
Byakuya wasn’t. But Kidō? A cinch. He was a prodigy when it came to Kidō. His grandfather had told him so, and Ginrei Kuchiki generally didn’t dish out generous amounts of praise for no reason, even if it was his own grandson’s skills he was appraising.
Bring it on, he mentally told the teacher.
“Now, this is in relation to Hado Number Four, or Byakurai. Are you prepared?”
Was he ever. Byakurai was one of his favorite techniques. Byakuya complacently folded his hands, as if challenging the teacher to bring it on.
“What is its incantation?”
Byakuya raised an eyebrow and inadvertently gave vent to a “Huh?” of incredulity.
“Did you not hear me?” the teacher said, inferring correctly that Byakuya was clueless, and thus brimming with glee. “Tell me the incantation of Byakurai.”
Byakuya was in a fix. He had never used the incantation before. He had never needed to. His Kidō without the incantation was stronger than that which others of his age performed with the incantation. He had never bothered paying attention to the boring old piece of junky poetry that old people called the ‘incantation’.
“Er…”
“Yes?”
After a certain amount of deliberation, Byakuya said, “There is no incantation,” with such confidence as would convince one that it was erudite knowledge he was presenting, and until the teacher said, “Absolutely wrong,” with even greater conviction, the class unanimously believed that Byakuya was right.
“Mr. Kuchiki, you would do well to listen in class,” the teacher said smugly, driving his point home, or at least believing so.
Byakuya remained steadfastly defiant.
“That is for me to decide,” he said, his air of infinite self-importance pervading the classroom like an unpleasant odor.
Most of the students gasped—both in admiration and shock—while the ones who remained silent were singularly envying Byakuya for his gift of guts and fearless recalcitrance.
Before the teacher could futilely sentence Byakuya to detention, the boy with the silver hair, deciding probably to have a shot at monopolizing the attention of the class, stood up with a wide grin and the obvious intent of competing with Byakuya for the title of the Most Popular Guy in Class.
“I’d like to challenge you to a duel,” he said.
Byakuya regarded him coldly.
“And who are you?”
“Name’s Gin Ichimaru.”
“Very well. I accept,” Byakuya said.
The class unanimously gasped. Evidently Gin Ichimaru had a fearsome reputation as a fighter already.
This was, however, not nearly enough to discourage, or even mildly disconcert Byakuya, who in his own opinion was so far beyond the riffraff whose society he was condemned to be in that any attempt at a comparison would prove miserably futile.
Gin Ichimaru would, however, much to Byakuya’s surprise, prove to be as fearsome as his reputation suggested, and maybe agreeing to duel him wasn’t the best idea after all.
“You may go,” Byakuya said, dismissing his guard with a supercilious wave of the hand. “I can take care of myself.”
The guard, comprised of people dressed in clothes similar to the uniform of the Stealth Force, presented a very intimidating picture, and the general impression that everyone got was that Byakuya was not someone to be messed with. No matter how much you thought he deserved to be bopped on the head or tripped.
Byakuya Kuchiki was noble. Byakuya Kuchiki was a noble pain in the ass.
When a girl who had hitherto had a high impression of her looks and deemed them irresistible walked confidently up to Byakuya and asked him if she could sit next to him, he wrinkled his nose and turned his face away from her, as though a foul odor were proceeding from her direction. Said girl’s admirers clenched their fists in indignation and fumed silently in the background, the only thing preventing them from pouncing on Byakuya and ripping his head off being the fact that the sight of his six well-built bodyguards with real Zanpakutō was fresh in their memory.
Byakuya Kuchiki on his part shut his eyes so as not to be able to see the insulting sight of people of lower class standing on the same floor as he. He had argued with his grandfather that he was being trained well enough at home, and lost. Ginrei Kuchiki was of the opinion that Byakuya needed the experience that came with learning in the company of others of his age. That way he would be able to compare his skills with others’. Before Byakuya could riposte, Ginrei did the meanest, lowest thing the head of a noble family could do: he blackmailed him. He told Byakuya that unless he went to the Academy, he wouldn’t inherit the title of the Head of the House of Kuchiki.
He was absorbed in these bitter thoughts when the teacher entered, and thus failed to notice him. It was only when some impertinent bimbo prodded him back to his senses did he realize that he was being peered at by an old man through a monocle.
“I thought so,” the teacher said to himself.
Byakuya suddenly became aware that he was the only one sitting down. The rest had all stood up when the teacher entered.
“You are Byakuya Kuchiki, aren’t you?”
Byakuya hmpf-ed at being addressed so informally but nodded his head all the same.
“While here, I’m afraid, you’re no different from all the rest.”
Byakuya could have snorted if he deemed it acceptable to do so. He didn’t, so he did what he usually did when he got such urges: make it as clear as possible that he was opposed to the notion proposed, and in this case, he did it quite well by narrowing his eyes to slits and shooting the teacher a glare that would have sent a Kuchiki servant stumbling for shelter.
The teacher, however, evidently accustomed to recalcitrance and brats, simply shrugged, as if to imply that Byakuya had no choice.
“Now,” he said. “Do you mind standing up?”
Byakuya weighed the question, and realizing that he wouldn’t be sacrifice as much of his self-respect in standing up as he would in insisting to remain seated, he stood up.
“Good,” said the teacher. Then he addressed the class: “And now, welcome to the Soul Reaper Academy! As you must have realized by now, you are in the Advanced Class because of your skills, which are more advanced than the other students’. However, if at any point I feel that you aren’t doing as well as you are expected to do, you shall be sent to a normal class. It is imperative that you…”
Byakuya ceased to pay attention to the teacher, being fairly certain that his behavior couldn’t be anything less than perfect even if he tried with all his might, and commenced regarding with supercilious insouciance the people around him. Everyone looked the same as everyone else, Byakuya concluded dully. His gaze fell on the head of a boy who owned a mass of shockingly silver hair, and this led him to revise his view. Passing him off as an abomination, Byakuya resumed complementing the infinite, which involved for the greater part picturing himself back at the Kuchiki manor, where he would strut around the corridors with no restrictions whatsoever, instilling fear in the heart of every servant who was unfortunate enough to pass by him. That was a life began to miss already.
“Mr. Kuchiki.”
Byakuya was jerked back to his senses.
“It appears as though you haven’t been paying attention. Do you mind repeating what I just said? And please, for goodness’ sake, stand up.”
Byakuya stood up.
“‘It appears as though you haven’t been paying attention,’” Byakuya said. There. He had repeated what the teacher had said perfectly—tone and all.
The entire class burst into laughter.
“Very funny, Mr. Kuchiki,” the teacher said sourly. “But you and I both know that’s not what I meant.”
Byakuya had realized by now that that was indeed what he had not meant. But the Pride of the Kuchikis prevented him from owning up without a fight.
“That is what it sounded like, and I did answer your question fine,” he said coolly, and the entire class gasped in admiration as well as disgust at his audacity.
“Brat,” some of the geekier ones whispered to their kin. They didn’t like that their favorite teacher should be ridiculed by a student just because the latter happened to have been born to the noblest of the noble families.
Some of the others whooped and cheered, but an indignant glare from the teacher made them realize their place and return to it.
Byakuya, albeit pleased by the appreciation his sarcasm got from the class, preferred not to show it, lest the lower-class people got the misimpression that he was interacting with them. Inconceivable.
“Yes, Mr. Kuchiki,” the teacher went on, taking a deep breath and making a lame attempt at appearing unfazed by the indignity he just suffered, “I’m not done with you yet. We were studying Kidō—theoretically, that is—just in case you weren’t aware.”
Byakuya wasn’t. But Kidō? A cinch. He was a prodigy when it came to Kidō. His grandfather had told him so, and Ginrei Kuchiki generally didn’t dish out generous amounts of praise for no reason, even if it was his own grandson’s skills he was appraising.
Bring it on, he mentally told the teacher.
“Now, this is in relation to Hado Number Four, or Byakurai. Are you prepared?”
Was he ever. Byakurai was one of his favorite techniques. Byakuya complacently folded his hands, as if challenging the teacher to bring it on.
“What is its incantation?”
Byakuya raised an eyebrow and inadvertently gave vent to a “Huh?” of incredulity.
“Did you not hear me?” the teacher said, inferring correctly that Byakuya was clueless, and thus brimming with glee. “Tell me the incantation of Byakurai.”
Byakuya was in a fix. He had never used the incantation before. He had never needed to. His Kidō without the incantation was stronger than that which others of his age performed with the incantation. He had never bothered paying attention to the boring old piece of junky poetry that old people called the ‘incantation’.
“Er…”
“Yes?”
After a certain amount of deliberation, Byakuya said, “There is no incantation,” with such confidence as would convince one that it was erudite knowledge he was presenting, and until the teacher said, “Absolutely wrong,” with even greater conviction, the class unanimously believed that Byakuya was right.
“Mr. Kuchiki, you would do well to listen in class,” the teacher said smugly, driving his point home, or at least believing so.
Byakuya remained steadfastly defiant.
“That is for me to decide,” he said, his air of infinite self-importance pervading the classroom like an unpleasant odor.
Most of the students gasped—both in admiration and shock—while the ones who remained silent were singularly envying Byakuya for his gift of guts and fearless recalcitrance.
Before the teacher could futilely sentence Byakuya to detention, the boy with the silver hair, deciding probably to have a shot at monopolizing the attention of the class, stood up with a wide grin and the obvious intent of competing with Byakuya for the title of the Most Popular Guy in Class.
“I’d like to challenge you to a duel,” he said.
Byakuya regarded him coldly.
“And who are you?”
“Name’s Gin Ichimaru.”
“Very well. I accept,” Byakuya said.
The class unanimously gasped. Evidently Gin Ichimaru had a fearsome reputation as a fighter already.
This was, however, not nearly enough to discourage, or even mildly disconcert Byakuya, who in his own opinion was so far beyond the riffraff whose society he was condemned to be in that any attempt at a comparison would prove miserably futile.
Gin Ichimaru would, however, much to Byakuya’s surprise, prove to be as fearsome as his reputation suggested, and maybe agreeing to duel him wasn’t the best idea after all.
0 comments :
Post a Comment