The rustling of pages was the only sound filling the library, where only one reader sat.
Among the tall shelves of books made from expensive sandalwood, countless scrolls and books in all the world's languages could be found. But the little reader was interested in just one dusty story about the Soul Society.
Only one child was present, sitting right on the light wood floorboards that gleamed so clean they reflected like mirrors. If an adult had peeked between the shelves, they would have seen nothing but a crown of dark hair and a small body in a light kimono, engrossed in the handwritten lines.
The book in the child's hands was very peculiar. It was the only one in the entire library bound in black with golden letters. Its pages were uniquely white and silky to the touch.
It looked like a very expensive, gift-quality book. Oddly enough, it was lying on a bottom shelf instead of gracing one of the study rooms in the mansion.
There were other books of similar thickness and bearing the same title—copies. But the boy could only read this one. The book inexplicably called to him, so strongly that he himself didn't understand why he had come here so early in the morning. He had never entered the library before—what was there to do here? Play hide and seek?
With every page turned, the cover darkened just a little, by half a tone, though the child didn't notice. With every page, a dull ache throbbed in his temples, and strange visions flickered in his mind after each line. But could such things seem strange to a child his age? For him, it was as normal as playing a game.
Had any of the mansion's servants seen him, they would have been surprised and assumed the boy was merely amusing himself with a book. After all, no one had taught him to read yet. And that was the strangest thing of all.
Yet, this didn't stop the book from imparting its knowledge to the young reader. Moving his lips slightly and tracing the hieroglyphs with his finger, the boy gleaned something important for himself.
The very first lines declared:
"Among the thousands of souls that pass through the cycle of reincarnation every day, only a few hundred are truly born in the Soul Society. And among them, the greatest miracle are the souls born in the City of the Gods of Death, also known as the White City—Seireitei.
"It is said that every soul born in Seireitei is blessed by the Soul King himself. They are the purest and most innocent of all souls, for the mechanism of reincarnation is so refined that it is impossible to be born in the White City without the watchful gaze of the all-seeing King."
The boy closed the book, having absorbed the main idea. His thoughtful brown eyes were full of a seriousness rare in children. For a moment, it even seemed as if someone else had taken over the child's body—or had something within him simply awakened briefly?
"Soul King, huh?" the boy whispered softly, glancing at the ceiling. "All-seeing, you say?"
The name of the God had no impact on reality. The ceiling didn't collapse, thunder and lightning didn't descend, and no voice spoke to him. It seemed as though if the Soul King existed, he had no interest in this small boy, no matter what the child thought of himself.
The sliding doors clicked open, letting in a rush of fresh air, and a loud male voice called out:
"You little rascal, are you here?"
The boy peeked cautiously from behind a shelf, his serious expression replaced by surprise. His eyes widened as he saw someone familiar, yet rarely encountered.
A tall, elderly man stood in the doorway with a proud bearing. He had a sharp-featured face and gray hair combed back, with one lock still black, as if clinging to the days of his youth. Thick white mustaches with a neat parting adorned his face.
The old man called again:
"Come out, rascal. I can feel you're here."
The black shihakusho uniform did nothing to hide his lean, warrior-like physique, and his broad shoulders almost grazed the doorway. His stern black eyes locked onto the child, and a faint smile flickered on his face—lasting only a moment before it returned to the stone-like visage of a serious elder.
This shinigami looked like someone strict, dangerous, and solemn. No one would dare joke casually in his presence.
Even before the child, there was a slight tension emanating from the man—a readiness for danger, for battle? The boy couldn't yet understand this, only sense it.
"Genshiro?" the boy murmured.
Yes, he immediately remembered the name, which the servants always spoke with unfailing reverence and awe. Genshiro Okikiba—that was the name of this shinigami. The mansion and everything within it belonged to him, the founder of the Noble Family Okikiba.
All the boy knew of his work were the words of the servants, that he served as a high-ranking officer in the Gotei 13.
The elder coughed.
"If you remember my name, then call me Grandpa, you rascal."
The boy stepped out from behind the shelves and quietly apologized:
"I've only seen you once or twice before… The servants always said you were very busy…"
"Polite people know how to greet their elders," the shinigami interrupted the boy's stammering.
Ah, this was what you'd call starting discipline from the first meeting! Flustered, the boy faltered under the elder's stern gaze.
"Uh… hello?"
"Hello who?"
The boy stammered:
"Hello, Grandpa?"
An awkward silence hung in the library for a few seconds. The boy fidgeted with the sleeve of his kimono, revealing a thin bracelet made of amber plates beneath it.
An expensive ornament, each segment brimming with reishi beneficial to the soul. Such a thing wasn't easily found, even in the markets of Rukongai's first districts.
Only now did the boy notice that the energy within the bracelet warmed as soon as the elder entered. It was a pleasant warmth, like sunlight, and nothing like the oppressive strength he had heard described by the servants.
It dawned on him—the bracelet and the elder were connected. The energy in the ornament, which helped him sleep peacefully at night and filled him with vitality every morning, was the same as the elder's!
The boy saw it in the elder's black eyes and felt it in the bracelet's power. No matter how stern the old man seemed, the boy could sense it. Care and concern, the kind only found in a family. A comforting feeling.
"Thank you for the gift, by the way," the boy finally remembered, finding a topic to discuss with the grandfather he had properly met for the first time. "It's my favorite… Much better than anything Father sends."
The elder was slightly taken aback by the boy's sincere gratitude—it was visible. But the shinigami quickly masked it, trying to maintain his stern demeanor.
"Hmph," he grunted neutrally, turning smoothly and tossing over his shoulder: "What are you waiting for? Follow me."
The boy tried to mimic the elder's stately demeanor but couldn't help grinning mischievously as he darted after his disappearing grandfather. The faint redness on the old man's ears betrayed his pleasure—he clearly enjoyed being a beloved grandparent.
And so, for the first time, the boy had a proper meeting with someone from his family. Until now, he had been cared for by a nanny and the servants. No one noticed as a thin black-bound book slipped into the folds of the boy's kimono.
It was the first book the child born in Seireitei, just three years ago, would fully read.
"The History of the Soul Society: The Balance of Souls."
That was its title. The knowledge within it would become a pebble that overturned everything. Because when the final page was closed that night, the boy would finally remember who he had been… in his past life.
And the book would inexplicably vanish, dissolving into reishi, spiritual particles. But the boy would always consider it a gift. As the book itself said, a blessing from the Soul King.
Author's Note:
I'll understand if I should continue based on your reactions. Add it to your library, hit like, or leave a comment. Silence means no interest—and no author likes that.