Chapter Text
“I…I’m not sure. There is a sense of….inner nihilism I’m trying to fight.” Uryū grimaced. Because there was an idealistic part of him that still wanted to believe firmly in goodness and destiny no matter how much evidence to the contrary he saw.
It had been such a compliment when Haschwalth referred to him as an animal—something loyal and courageous and beyond the traditional binary of good and evil. Because he’d long been a judgmental person who believed in justice and had reached a breaking point where he would betray anything he had to in order to protect his friends, which threw him into such spiritual disarray that it was hard to communicate how lost he felt—
“Yes, fight it.” Dad pushed his glasses up. “I think it’s good that you’re taking a break from missions if this is your mindset regarding-”
“I’m not flagrantly exterminating—Urahara gives me the green light for Hollows that the reapers are struggling with. It’s not like before.” It was such a battle not to roll his eyes.
“Apathy doesn’t suit you.”
He chuckled a little darkly. “And here I thought you’d approve of me finally getting less sensitive.”
“No. You’ve misunderstood me.”
“Hm.” Typical. It was his own fault as per usual.
“I didn’t explain it well enough.”
He blinked. Whoa! Was that some accountability? Ha.
His father’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed. “To me, it seemed you were so affected by violent news articles and graphic shows and stories, I worried that you were too soft. I tried to control what media you were exposed to-I-you suffered nightmares regularly. I…I didn’t know you’d seen Grandpa-”
“You knew about Mom.” That was vindictive. It was also the truth.
His father flinched and nodded. He took a deep breath. “…Yes. I hoped you would… move past it. That you could… understand… at least after Yhwach was defeated why I… had to do that.”
“…” He nodded. Yes. He understood. Forgiving it was still… beyond him. Why couldn’t Urahara have done it instead? Why did it have to be Dad? Why hadn’t he drugged him to ensure the autopsy remained a secret? Why couldn’t he have been left with Grandpa? Why—
“She would understand,” his father said tightly, “if our places were reversed, I would have expected her to do the same.”
“…”
“To learn what she could to protect you. To protect the world, so you could continue living safely in it.”
“…Mmhm.”
His tone became agitated. “That’s still not good enough for you.”
“No.”
His father was upset to hear that.
But that was too bad.
There was a hole in Uryū because of what he’d witnessed regarding Mom, a wound that stretched after seeing Sensei in a similar state of undignified death.
Middle school hadn’t helped. At all.
He hadn’t seen Aso jump, but he’d sensed his death. The eruption of foul Hollow-tainted energy had triggered such dread. To think, his human body had still been sealing so much of it.
He shuddered.
There were several tense beats of silence but then his father looked up, expression stern. Determined. “I think you’re wrong…I do believe in destiny. It brought your mother and I together. We were presented with a choice. We were given free will and we chose each other. You were then entrusted to us.”
Uryū sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “This probably seems combative. What I’m trying to say is that it’s okay. You… you don’t have to romanticize it. If a different soul had been… assigned to you and Mom-”
“No. There would not have been another soul. You are where you’re supposed to be. Born to us. Here. Destiny. I grant you that the Soul King messed up a lot of things. He got this part right.”
Uryū felt his face heat up and his mouth moved before he could think better of it, “Do you… really believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?!”
It was said fiercely. Passionately. The way Uryū would’ve delivered a declaration not so many years ago.
He suddenly saw… himself… in his father.
And there it was, what Grandfather had wanted him to see, that his father was just as passionate as him for what he deemed most important.
Only… it came so late.
His lips twisted. “I envy your conviction. It seems like, since I’ve returned from Schatten Bereich, I’m just not so certain about anything anymore.”
“…”
“I guess it’s that oak and reed fable. If you can’t bend, you break.” He laughed weakly. “Or if you’re arrogant enough to stand as the tallest, you win the lightning.”
“No. That’s…no. You’re not broken. You’re not being punished. You’ve just been made aware that the world and its range of options are infinitely bigger than what you’d allowed yourself to believe. Quite abruptly, you’ve been spoiled for choice and are reeling a bit. This sort of mental paralysis is temporary. It’s… it’s okay to feel a little lost.”
No, it wasn’t.
He shook his head. “I’m used to picking something and-and knowing it and myself and believing. And now there’s this… this weight…sense of caution…” He touched his chest where his soul injury ached. “What if things aren’t as they seem? What if there’s more to know? But sometimes there isn’t time to gather all the data you need to make a truly informed decision. You have to make do with what’s available and you can be wrong. It makes everything more complicated.”
“Ah. My dragon is learning wisdom.”
It was strange to sense fondness and sadness mixing in his father’s spirit ribbon. Oddly enough, the feeling wasn’t fragile, if anything, a sense of tranquility was materializing and strengthening. His father even smiled through it. “Sometimes, even when there are lots of options, it doesn’t mean your first decision was wrong. I always thought the principle you chose at the very start was highly admirable: To do the best you can at all things that came your way. That seemed, to me, a very fulfilling way to live.”
The mattress bounced, instantly waking Ryūken from his slumber to find Uryū sitting nearby—a fuzzy but familiar form in the dark.
“Festival! Early start like you said!” Uryū told him in a loud whisper of urgency that Ryūken remembered from elementary school field trips and other “important” events.
Ryūken reached for his glasses. He glanced at the clock: 5:03 AM.
Which meant Uryū had awakened at 5 AM, contained himself for three whole minutes, and then barged in here.
Ha. The dreaded successor of an evil Quincy King…
He recalled that frightful battle with the Echts.
Uryū’s power and wits could make him a formidable opponent. It was his morality that kept him in check.
That was… difficult to come to terms with.
He reached to smooth the dark hair that was sticking up in multiple directions.
“I see.”
“Okay, so, um, since Juri’s off, should I make us breakfast? Should I pack the car? Should I practice my closing speech one more time?”
“Let’s… get ready and go out.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm.”
Uryū became a morning whirlwind of productivity. He made them tea to take in thermoses. He packed the car with supplies for various “what if’s.” He ended up barging in again while Ryūken was shaving. It was lucky he’d instinctively used blut or he’d have had an impressive cut.
“Dad, do you think Sassahara will rig my podium with razors?”
It was a good question, but with a toothbrush hanging out of his son’s mouth, it was difficult to take seriously.
He gestured to the sink.
“Oh. Right.” He spat.
Ryūken reached over to the faucet to let him rinse the toothbrush and finish up.
In the interim, he grabbed a towel to pat his face dry.
“Or do you think she’ll, like, interrupt my speeches or something?”
“I’m not sure.” He selected some cologne for himself and smiled a little to himself as he noticed his son glancing over the bottles with interest.
He explained some of the scents and tones. He gestured for him to choose one.
Uryū went for a vanilla and cedar combination.
He could tell from the way his son stood a little taller afterwards that it made him feel grown up.
Ryūken figured his son needed the confidence boost.
There was a high probability that the day would be challenging. The prior week, he’d alerted the police to the “warnings” and Sahashi had said he’d personally attend the event as a precaution or deterrent.
But the school had refused to cancel or reschedule.
Idiots.
Ryūken tied his tie and pondered whether it would be literal danger or public humiliation of some kind?
With so much happening, it might’ve seemed odd to insist on breakfast out, but…
Uryū needed a kind distraction.
And how often did he really get to treat his son?
Yes, sitting down with the menu and seeing a variety of pastries reminded him painfully of Kanae’s absence but Uryū clearly appreciated the effort he was making for him. The corners of his mouth kept going up as he took in the morning scents of breakfast and coffee.
He smiled a little sheepishly. “Everything smells so good.”
“Order what you want. Remember, you’re probably going to have a late lunch.”
“There’s some snacks in the car, too.” Uryū reminded him.
“Yes, but the morning setup will require lots of energy. So make sure you eat well.”
His son’s stomach growled. “Heh. Yes, sir.”
Sitting across from him with bright blue eyes and a pleasant mood made echoes of his nightmare, from weeks ago, resurface. There was a dull sort of horror that in some alternate timeline he made a point to dine out in his son’s honor because he could not treat him. And here he was, alive, and Ryūken had made so little time for him.
His son was smiling over breakfast.
That made his heart twist.
“I’m still a little nervous,” Uryū confided to him as he cut into his stack of soufflé pancakes.
“Urahara told you she was experimenting with melting plastic?” He confirmed again.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Mmm. Ichigo texted that he remembered that she likes Shakespeare, too. I vaguely recall that they got into some debates about ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Othello.’”
“About?”
“Can’t remember. Ichigo wasn’t super fond of the lead characters in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Which, yeah, they’re kinda dumb and the play is an unflattering commentary about the melodramatic impulsivity of youth.”
Ryūken cut in with a “Hmmm.”
“Don’t invite me to roll my eyes at you. Anyways, I think he also disliked the evil for evil’s sake that Iago embodied. Which I get. But you have to, like, accept that that kind of evil exists even if it makes no sense to you.”
“I don't think either of those titles bode well for us.” Tragedies, both of them.
“I keep wondering if she’s going to try something from my middle school days… but I’m way too big to shove in a locker now.”
Ryūken’s eyebrow twitched and he paused with his fork midway to his mouth. “I could’ve reported that.”
Uryū shrugged.
Ryūken completed his bite, chewed and swallowed before agreeing, “There are a lot of variables, but you’re not alone in this.”
Uryū fidgeted with his hands. “It makes me feel guilty though. Dragging everyone else into my problems.”
“You sound like your mother.” He took a drink of his coffee.
“Hm?” His expression of surprise made him look like his mother, too.
He reached over to tuck a loose lock of dark hair so it didn’t snag in the hinge of his glasses.
“When your mother and I were newlyweds, it used to drive me mad having to guess when she needed help. So much extra stress because she didn’t want to ‘burden’ me.”
“But she learned to trust you with stuff?”
“Yes. Not all at once but gradually. Especially once you were in our lives.”
He made a face. “I made things more difficult?”
Ryūken shook his head, a little dismayed though resigned that Uryū had inherited that from his mother as well—constant anxiety that he was somehow at fault for things beyond his control. “Our situation became more complex with you. How could it not with someone incredibly vulnerable literally depending on us? Times where I would’ve indulged her proud nature on such things greatly ebbed. Times where she would’ve insisted on struggling on her own also ebbed as I learned to communicate better. My concerns. My support. I know, I know. It’s scary to think I was worse.”
Uryū cracked a guilty smile.
“Basically, we realized, why work separately when we could collaborate? It was easy to do… for you.” Their son was precious to them.
Uryū’s face went very pink and he smiled cheerfully. For one shining moment, Ryūken dared to hope his son could keep that feeling of happiness, but then his expression fell.
Damn it.
Dark blue eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Sometimes, I feel bad. That I’m here and she’s not.
“Don’t.”
“But-”
“No. It’s not even a question. Believe me. If it was down to you or me surviving, I would do all I could to ensure your survival. I understand her completel-”
“But it’s not fair for either of you in those scenarios-”
“Fair? Eight. Eighteen. Those are young ages, Uryū. How could that ever be fair? You have so much more life to live. If I’m honest with myself, and you were eighty and I was still… around, I would still choose you. That’s fairness to me.”
Uryū’s mouth twitched with another smile before he grew somber. “I feel like I cheated and that’s why I’m still here.”
“No. No, it’s grace. It might be… the one grace note that’s convinced me that Adyneus wasn’t a vile, worthless creator. You were spared.” If Kanae had sacrificed herself and it hadn’t worked…
It was too terrible to-
“And that’s enough?”
“I have nightmares where you weren’t.”
“Oh…” He seemed to grow thoughtful and he poured more coffee from the pot for Ryūken. “Today… could be dangerous,” he said with a soft serious honesty.
He was so much like his mother.
“Mhmm.”
There was a very long pause and an even softer confession of: “I’m… glad I’m not facing it alone.”
That was good to hear.
It was painful to hear.
To hear and know from that strained tone that his child had felt very alone in his struggles for a very long time.
Alone had become the default. And while he’d grown resigned to it… he’d longed for support.
Leaning into the melodrama, Ryūken replied as he lifted his cup, “May the heavens have pity for your enemies for I surely won’t.”
Uryū snickered appreciatively.
Ryūken meant every word.
He took a deep sip.
Even after stopping for breakfast, they still arrived first and had to wait for a groundskeeper to unlock the doors to Karakura High School.
Dad had approved of the extra measure of security. He’d been worried that all of the school’s assurances to this point had been lip service.
It was a cold day. There was frost on the grass.
“I’m glad we rented outdoor heating units.” He flexed his fingers in front of the car’s passenger heater.
Dad handed him some pocket warmers.
“T-thanks.” His hand shook a little from nerves.
“I’m going to stay the whole time,” Dad told him in that no-nonsense-don’t-bother-arguing-with-me tone. “Please remain close.”
Fine by him. He nodded.
Dad seemed to sit a little straighter in his seat after that, as if he’d been bracing for an argument on that and it had been weighing him down.
When they saw the groundskeeper, Dad got out to talk to him about the security of the event. Almost as soon as he did, Officer Sahashi drove up and parked next to their car. The officer joined the men’s conversation. Dad beckoned for him to join and soon all four of them walked around the school to see if there was anything noticeably suspicious and to let Uryū discuss his concerns.
There was a strange surreality to being taken seriously. He half-wished he could’ve told his middle school self to keep trying with the adults in his life—that there were ones that did want to help.
They were halfway through their circuit when Chad arrived and asked him what to do. Uryū requested him to set the ladders out so they could hang banners as soon as they arrived.
“Sassahara is-?”
“Bringing the banners,” Uryū sighed. “We’ll wait on bringing out the beverages and nonperishable snacks until we’re closer to opening for the event, but I think we’ve got a pallet specifically for the organizers, but I’m not sure which grouping is which though.”
“No problem.”
“Uryū!” A high voice greeted him.
“Hey Chiyo!” He called back.
Her parents were with her.
They said their hello’s.
Towa, Suna, and their… Dad…it was still kinda weird thinking of Sensei Chiba as a dad dad rather than the loose paternal guardian figure he remembered. He… dressed more like a dad now. Before he’d been more non conforming and rebellious with ripped up martial arts clothing and gym gear. Uryū wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Hey Uryū,” Mr. Chiba gave him a steady look, “you need to come visit the dojo.”
He felt an internal twinge of guilt at the lecture this probably signaled, until the man followed up with, “We’ve all missed you.”
Truth.
He nodded and tentatively requested “Martial arts movie night?”
The man grinned. “Good plan.”
Their fathers helped move tables into position for some of the booths.
Chiyo’s mother began sorting packets for each booth and checking them off on a spreadsheet.
Harumi was suddenly by his elbow.
“Ninja,” he muttered fondly.
She smiled.
Junya was grim as he arrived. “Do I just film Sassahara the whole time? We all know she’s the most dangerous variable here today.”
Sahashi adjusted his hat. “Tempting but she could claim harassment. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to set up a few cameras. I’ve got some-”
“So do I! At least one by the podium so she doesn’t mess with it,” Junya argued.
“Good idea, Gomi.”
The rest of the council and school club members arrived and started standing around, which necessitated a quick pep talk to coordinate their efforts and energize them.
It was still a little surprising to look up and see his dad at the edge of the room leaning against the wall, arms folded, intently listening.
Afterwards, Uryū received a nod of approval from him that was even followed up with a “You’d said before you pursued this to learn leadership. You have. Well done.”
That kindled some warmth in his chest.
The first truck arrived and the men helped set up tents for the outdoor events of the festival.
There were activity stations there that involved fake snowballs and targets and other carnival-styled games.
Dad stuck with him. “How do I help, Student Council President?”
“Assist me? We’re making rounds. Tying up loose ends. So there could be a lot of variation.” He hesitated and moved closer, lowering his voice. “I sense she’s here.”
His father nodded.
“She feels very content and that worries me. I… I’m a little rattled because of her drama and what happened the other day at the window display. I’m worried that it’s going to be a toss up of whether my mental health or my physical health dips because of the stress. I…I need you to look out for me.”
“My pleasure, Student Council President.”
“Heh.” He was about to speak when he noticed Mrs. Kobayashi, the Surgical Assistant.
“Oh, hello! You were right. Hara’s Supermarket was willing to help me.”
His father snickered, which led to the incredibly embarrassing reveal that the grocery store she’d promoted was her family’s business and the current owner was her brother.
Oh well. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed.
It was kind of fun running around and checking in with everyone to ensure everything was on track. He and Dad picked up tasks as needed.
All the booths were coming together. It was nice to see tinsel decorations and multicolored lights. Though he had to give some warnings about how many cords could be safely plugged into an outlet.
Stereos were starting to be set up and music began adding to the ambience.
He and Dad had been moving crates of origami supplies onto a dolly when they ended up overhearing a conversation between Kobayashi and her brother.
“Your Director’s here,” Mr. Hara noted sourly. “PR stunt?”
“No. Uryū is Ryūken’s boy,” she explained.
“Really?” His tone indicated surprise.
Uryū stared at his shoes. It hurt and he wasn't sure why, after years of not wanting to be associated with his father at all.
“Yes, so treat him well. Ryūken adores him.”
Uryū’s head snapped back up. What?! He glanced over.
His father continued moving the paper craft supplies only pausing slightly on hearing—
“I thought they had a falling out?”
Ryūken pushed up his glasses.
“Reconciled. I hear he made quite a spectacle at the golf tournament.”
Uryū frowned not recalling what he’d done to embarrass himself—
“Introduced Uryū to anyone and everyone he could. Just like the old days at the picnics!” She laughed. “I knew it just had to be a misunderstanding.”
Oh. He tentatively looked to see his dad was cleaning his glasses with a cloth.
“Hm.”
“I felt so terrible for him. First his wife. And then his son-”
“Son doesn’t strike me as someone who’d leave on a whim-”
“You’ve known him for an hour,” she pointed out. “I’ve known Ryūken since-”
“I’m a good judge of character.”
“One phone call and a face-to-face ‘hello’ and you’re on Uryū’s side?”
“Yeah. He’s a responsible kid. And he’s too grateful when he gets help. That phone call made me angry. You told him I was going to help, right?”
“I implied that you would, but…I tried to leave room if you needed—”
“When I told him the store would donate to the food drive in addition to providing a truck for the event, he got choked up.”
Uryū cringed, he thought he’d played it off. Apparently not. He had been taken off guard by the level of generosity—proof that good people weren’t just a hypothetical thing to believe in.
He wasn’t sure if his friends would ever understand how they had pulled him back from the edge by existing. He hadn’t even needed them to be his friends. He just needed them to be good. To stay good. To be what he was fighting to protect.
“Well, yes, Uryū is sensitive-”
“No. Uryū has gone hungry before. I don’t think I can forgive your director for that. A man with that kind of salary-”
“Uryū ran away. He wanted to-”
“No. He might’ve done that, but it wasn’t because he wanted to. Kids like him don’t want to leave their parents. Something happened. More likely, something built up. You saw him. He was so surprised I showed up. I said I would but he thought that meant I’d send someone in my stead.”
“…”
“Yeah. My intuition says that’s something he’s experienced a lot.”
“…”
“Ryūken is trying. We can all see he’s trying. If you knew him, the way we do, you’d see how much he—”
“Yeah well, who’s the one giving him the second chance? Give that kid more credit.”
Brother and sister walked away, Uryū felt woozy and exposed.
“Feel validated?” Ryūken asked dryly as he moved another container.
He nodded.
“Hn.”
Uryū sighed. “I wish I could enjoy when others call you out.”
“It’s just more satisfying when you do it personally?” He guessed.
He shook his head.
“No?” The elder Ishida was skeptical.
“…No.” Because it dug claws in the open wound of Mom and Grandpa being gone. And the one person who was still there and supposed to care about him… didn’t.
“It makes me feel…”
He remembered lying in the hospital bed in Nagano with no one to call as the staff complained about him. No wallet. No identification. No money.
He hurt so badly. On every level. And now it worsened as he overheard them:
A nobody… wasting their finite resources…
Doctors. Nurses. Attending staff. This was just a job to them. Not a calling. Not a reflection of their desires to do good for good’s sake.
Deciding which lives were more valuable and how much effort should be allotted as a result.
Pay checks. Salaries. Greed. Prestige. Reputation.
Liars. Hypocrites.
Humans were despicable.
A chill settled over him like a pall.
Humans were despicable.
No one cared about him. He was—
“…So… alone.”
Because humans were despicable.
There was a flash of alarm that didn’t belong to him and he instinctively scanned his surroundings for a Hollow and began drawing reishi to form a bow.
“No Hollow,” Ryūken told him gruffly.
“Oh.” He let the energy dissipate. “Why are you…distressed?”
Where was the danger?
He received an incredulous look. “You just said you take no satisfaction hearing me slandered because it made you feel alone. That it confirmed what you feared: that you were alone.”
“…Oh.”
“That’s not true,” Dad bit out. “I’m sorry if it seemed that way, but it wasn’t-”
He nodded hurriedly, not wanting to talk about this. Here. Now. There was too much going on.
“Uryū, listen-”
“Please, I can’t—not now. Plus, it’s very public here-”
His father’s mouth was downturned in a severe frown.
“President!”
“Chiyo!” He forced a smile. Good timing. “I-I think I need to sit for a bit.”
“Oh no, your hypotension?” She asked immediately.
“Y-Yes…Is there a role I can do that’ll let me rest but be productive?”
It was handing out maps at the front.
“Another council member will join you in a few minutes,” Chiyo told him.
“Right. Thank you.”
She was going to make an excellent Vice President.
She left him with an itinerary of the event on a clipboard in a plastic sheet. “Let me know if you need to tag-team out.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“This event is going to be successful,” she assured him.
“Yes,” his father agreed.
“Y-yes,” he echoed back weakly.
“I don’t like this,” Dad complained.
“We’re doing rotations,” Uryū reminded him for a second time. “And since I’m doing my shift now, I won’t have to do it later.”
“Hn.” Dad set two thermoses of tea on the table before taking up a seat beside him at the greeting station. “I’m glad we prepped these this morning.”
“It’s just an hour.”
“Hn. I don’t like this for you. It’s cold out here.”
“Coat. Scarf. Gloves. Handwarmers. Standing heater.” He pointed to it. “I’ll live.”
Dad was hovering especially close since his disclosure about his hypotension.
And then it happened: Sassahara, who he’d been trying to avoid all morning, approached.
“Good morning, President,” she greeted cheerily.
Be professional, Uryū.
“Good morning, Vice President,” he greeted back. “All the signs?”
“Have been set up.”
“Good.”
She glanced over at Ryūken who was openly glaring at her.
“Oh. Hello, sir.” She gave a wooden smile.
His dad did not reciprocate and continued to stare her down.
“I’ll be joining this station,” she informed them.
Dad didn’t move.
Uryū frowned. “That’s not what the itinerary says. It says Obata’s supposed to be here.” Looking for his energy signature revealed he was in a classroom on the third floor.
“And he’s twelve minutes late,” Dad said.
She toyed with a strand of hair before tucking it behind her ear. “I asked. And he swapped with me because… you and I… We… really should talk things out. Find some closure. I’m transferring schools, you know? During the break.”
He blinked. “Oh?”
“Mhm.” She took up a tone of wounded victimhood. “My father doesn’t like this witch hunt I’ve been subjected t-”
“You will need to find another chair,” Dad told her bluntly. “These two are taken.”
That Dad didn’t relinquish his own or offer to get said chair or send Uryū to do the task said a lot.
“Dad…” He was a little stunned.
It felt very ungentlemanly.
“Right.” She returned with a foldout chair of her own that didn’t match theirs and a very plastically stiff smile. Though her intention was to set up next to Uryū, Dad foiled her plan.
“Uryū, switch places with me.”
He had to admire Dad’s sense of unflinching, inflexible commitment as he stubbornly sat between them and ignored how awkward it made things.
Because Uryū had asked him for his support.
Dad then outperformed Sassahara at their station’s duties, proving some of Uryū’s competitive spirit really was from him.
He was also highly recognizable.
As festival goers began arriving, there were exclamations of “Dr. Ishida?!” from various patients of Karakura Gen.
“You’re helping out here?”
“Yes, my son Uryū is the Student President of this school.”
“And you’re here? Helping on one of your few days off? No rest? Up at the crack of dawn?” The man gave a look at Uryū like he was spoiled.
He was. He knew that. He owned it.
“Yes, my father is being very generous with his time.”
“He certainly is.”
“No, my son is being kind,” Ryūken replied. “There have been too many times I couldn’t be present for his activities. It’s a gift to spend time together.”
Uryū’s face burned and he couldn’t think of anything to say.
This speech, witnessed by multiple people, instantly endeared father and son.
He could literally sense Sassahara’s agitation, which was kind of satisfying.
Dad prompted him to explain about the origami cranes. Something in the action and expression reminded him abruptly of being little: his first school pageant and Dad had memorized his lines.
Kneeling in the front row with a bulky camcorder in his hands, mouthing the words so Uryū wouldn’t get lost. That feeling…
That safety net…
Uryū had performed his part with gusto back then.
And he did so here as well, talking up the origami activity and the children’s ward of the hospital, the food and clothing drives, the festival’s hours when people expressed a desire to go home and bring back old coats or buy toys for the less fortunate.
Dad handed out more pamphlets and maps.
As Uryū talked, the words all came out smoothly and there was a sense of confidence mixed in with exhilaration because, yes, this was his school’s festival and it was a good thing. And it felt good to be class president then.
There was something in their faces, in their spirit ribbons, the way they smiled warmly at Uryū and then glanced over at his father…
The feeling deepened in a way that was hard to describe.
He turned to realize Dad was watching him with an open look of…
“Yes, so treat him well. Ryūken adores him.”
It was just hard to believe...
Mom smiled down at him. “You mean the world to him, Uryū.”
When there was a lull, and Dad and Uryū had rejoined her at the table, Sassahara cleared her throat and dug around in the satchel she’d brought with her.
She pulled out two water bottles. “That was a lot of talking. You must be thirsty. Sorry, I only brought two, sir. For myself and for Uryū.”
“My son and I have drinks.” Dad tapped their thermoses as he repositioned them.
She frowned. “Well, this is refreshing. For you, Uryū.” She reached across Ryūken and nearly thrust it under Uryū’s nose.
“I-I don’t-”
“I will take it,” Dad decided.
She started to withdraw it altogether, but he snatched the bottle from her hand and set it hard on the table, snapping a harsh “Thank you” at her.
She all but fled from the table.
Dad gave him a sharp look as he commanded, “Do not drink that under any circumstance.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dad didn’t bother to wait to remove her chair from the table. He got up and folded it and set it out of view.
When he returned, he set the bottle on the ground near his foot.
“I don’t trust her or anything she offers,” Dad declared. He crossed his arms and set one leg over the other. His foot bounced, proof he was deeply agitated. “Closure. Hn. She was trying to appeal to your empathy. You noticed that, right? Loathsome.”
Maybe Uryū had overdone it by communicating his vulnerabilities and directly asking Dad to have his back?
Dad was in attack mode.
The bottle was suspicious.
That it was clearly intended for Uryū and no one else, judging by Sassahara’s reaction to him accepting it, made him recall Chiyo and Junya’s warning months ago that they never let Uryū accept food or beverages from her.
He wanted it tested. Perhaps it contained a laxative of some kind to cause him embarrassment? The cap didn’t seem to be tampered with but-
“Hey Uryū. Hey Uncle,” Ichigo greeted. “Ugh, this thing starts way too early.”
His father and sisters were following at a more leisurely pace.
Ryūken eyed the medical face mask his nephew was sporting. “Are you well enough to be here?”
The teen rolled his eyes and gave a belligerent, “Yes. Look, you guys need all the help you can get.”
“Hey Subway Ninja!” Isshin greeted Uryū with a cheery wave and laughter.
Uryū immediately turned bright red.
Ryūken’s eyebrows twitched.
Ichigo blinked in confusion. “What’s Goatface blathering about?”
“I can explain that later, um, Ichigo, can you check on Obata for us?” Uryū requested. “Third floor. Fourth classroom, I think. He’s been there for over forty minutes. It’s making me anxious.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “You think he’s up to something?”
“I don’t know. I can’t sense any kind of emotion. It’s weird. Can you call after you check on him?”
“Sure. You’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, Dad’s my bodyguard, I’m good.”
Ichigo snickered. “Just what Uncle’s always wanted. Glad someone’s having a good day.”
Ryūken scowled but didn’t argue the point.
It was an honor to pay back Kanae for years of unwavering service and loyalty to him by being their child’s steadfast protector.
He would do anything for their little dragon.
Especially when big blue eyes looked up at him earnestly. “Inukai…she…she didn’t move from the bridge… and Obata now… he isn’t moving.” He bit his lip in worry.
Ichigo’s eyes narrowed in determination. “Onata-”
“Obata!” Ishida corrected.
“Got it!” Ichigo rushed off to the stairwell.
“Possible medical emergency?” Isshin clarified. “I’m on it!” He dashed after his son. “Watch the girls for me, Ryuu!”
And now Ryūken had three children to safeguard from a possible plot. Great.
Uryū was getting anxious. “Dad, Obata… likes Sassahara… you don’t think she’d harm him, do you?”
As per usual, he had no answers that wouldn’t hurt him.
He straightened his child’s scarf and tried to analyze what he assumed was Obata’s energy signature.
There was something off with it.
He couldn’t help wondering if Obata had accepted a water bottle from Sassahara.
There had been a cloudiness when the liquid was disturbed, but sometimes minerals could do that.
It was hard to know more because the plastic was tinted blue.
Tinted plastic.
Plastic.
Melting plastic.
He inspected the bottom of the bottle. There was a bead of plastic at the center where it dimpled.
Was that usual? Part of the design? An alteration?
Urahara called.
He answered.
The man barely uttered the word “Yoruichi” before playing operator and letting her speak for herself.
Or, rather, yell:
“It’s pesticide! Don’t let him drink anything, Ryūken! She’s been experimenting with PESTICIDE!”