Pink aspects of a soul

Chapter One

Notes:

The story was originally written in Hungarian, and despite my best efforts, the translation may contain linguistic errors. Please be forgiving. From the fourth chapter onwards, the quality of the translation will improve, until then I ask for your patience.

Since both main characters speak in Kansai dialect and they'll speak a lot later, I didn't even try to translate it properly for easy readability. This chapter isn't very eventful, but I hope you won't get bored.

I wish you a good read!

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The World of the Living, Japan, Shizuoka Prefecture, Numazu City,
March 1982

A slender, blond boy was rocking in his chair in a featureless classroom. The walls were devoid of any personality, as if the room was inhabited not by the same thirty-seven people but by ghosts – no pictures, drawings or writings gave any indication of the atmosphere of the class, the white emptiness that surrounded him day after day was drowsy. The boy stopped and lowered the chair back onto its four legs when he caught the teacher's gaze. He pretended to be listening to a lecture on ancient Chinese literature and opened his book, but instead of reading a single line, following the monotonous words coming from the far end of the classroom, he twirled his pen between his thin fingers and looked out the window to his left.

He looked barely seventeen, but as the Fifth Division's Captain, Hirako Shinji, he had no need to go to school. He had already mastered everything he could ever need centuries earlier—he cared little for Chinese literature at the time. What was just words and history to those around him was once present time and real life to him, even if his time in Soul Society didn't quite align with the reality of the living world.

Shinji adapted well to the changed circumstances and was able to descend among mortals after becoming an exile along with several of his comrades, and if he tried to return to Soul Society, he would have been executed immediately. He had no desire to return, and in the eighty years he had spent among humans, much of his anger had evaporated, only resurfacing when something or someone reminded him of the circumstances of his exile.

It was easier to blend in and try to make the most of the limited opportunities. Since Shinji learned to absorb and control the hollow that had moved into his body, his life had become much easier, and he had spent enough time among people to be able to copy their habits and ways of thinking. It was no longer just an exciting part of trips in a foreign reality to observe Japan and its inhabitants, whose clothing and social structure had significantly differed from what was customary in Seireitei after the turn of the century, but it had become a permanent thing, of which he was forced to become a participant.

The first days were painful, but after he got back on his feet and accepted that he was alone (the company that had been brought together by the loss and rejection they had suffered together had gradually disintegrated, and this had not proven to be a strong enough bond against the fundamental differences in their personalities), he threw himself into the possibilities of his new life with a defiant, bitter smile. Shinji had not been known for his always correct behavior before, but since he was no longer the captain of a shinigami squad, he did not have to pay attention to what mark his actions or words left on those around him. The world around him was in turmoil, and he had witnessed changes in those few fleeting decades that he had never experienced in the hundreds of years he had spent as a shinigami. Shinji was born in a calm era, and the strange, effervescent life, which only vaguely resembled the one he had known before, captivated him.

He wore a kimono for a while, then a three-piece suit of lightweight material, and finally an overcoat and looser shirts. He wore a hat, which he really liked, and for a while he replaced his zanpakuto, which he was mostly forced to do without, with a walking stick. He became addicted to strong drinks for a short time and indulged in his captain's passion, the pipe, but he soon stopped using the latter, perhaps because of unpleasant memories. Eventually he also visited jazz clubs more for the music than the drink - his vinyl record collection was lost when he was evacuated from Seireitei, but Shinji was able to listen to what he loved live, and that made up for it.