At the Ishida residence, the call ended with a soft click.
Kanae Ishida lowered the phone slowly, her fingers lingering against it for a moment longer than necessary. She exhaled, then looked down at the boy standing before her.
"Uryū," she said helplessly, "your father… isn't someone who can be persuaded easily."
The decision had not come lightly.
After Uryū had laid out his reasoning—calm, precise, and far too mature for a child his age—Kanae had finally agreed to listen. But Quincy's matters were not something she could decide on her own. No matter how much she trusted her son, this was a path that could never be taken lightly.
That was why she had called Ryūken.
Uryū, however, showed no sign of anxiety. Instead, a faint, confident smile appeared on his face.
"It's fine, Mother," he said. "I'll persuade Father."
Kanae was momentarily startled.
Uryū knew something she herself had almost forgotten.
Ryūken's aversion to Quincy identity had not always been this severe. That bitterness, that near-hostility toward everything Quincy-related, had only crystallized after losing both Kanae and Sōken in the future he remembered. Right now—here and now—Ryūken was conflicted, but not unreachable.
So Uryū gently took Kanae's hand and led her toward the entrance hall, where the evening light filtered through the windows. Together, they waited.
Only at moments like this did Kanae glimpse the child beneath the composure.
Uryū stood near the door, posture straight but restless, his fingers curling and uncurling unconsciously. He tried to appear calm, yet there was an unmistakable tension in his small frame.
Quincy power…
Kanae pressed a hand lightly to her chest.
She had sworn to herself that she would never allow her child to touch the supernatural world. Never let him bear the same burdens. Never let him be dragged into a conflict older and crueler than any human life.
And yet…
He had found the truth on his own.
Not only that—he had accepted it, analyzed it, and now stood ready to confront it.
I hope… she thought quietly, that it really is just as you say, Uryū. Only for protection.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Moments later, the door opened.
Ryūken Ishida entered first, his expression serious, his coat still carrying the chill of the mountain air. Behind him followed Ishida Sōken, his posture upright despite his age, his sharp eyes already fixed on his grandson.
"Father. Grandfather," Uryū said, bowing politely.
His manners were impeccable, drilled into him since infancy.
Ryūken's expression softened imperceptibly, though his eyes remained stern. Sōken, on the other hand, broke into a broad smile the instant he saw Uryū.
"My, my—Uryū!" Sōken laughed, striding forward and lifting him with surprising ease. "You've grown again! At this rate, you'll surpass your father in no time."
Uryū stiffened slightly at the sudden affection but didn't resist. He had always been close to his grandfather. Sōken doted on him openly, without reservation.
Ryūken, however, looked distinctly displeased.
"Father," he said curtly, "put Uryū down first."
Sōken blinked. "Hm?"
"I need to speak with Uryū and Kanae," Ryūken continued, his tone turning sharp. "Alone. About the Quincy matter."
He glanced briefly at Uryū, as if searching for any sign of abnormality, but found none.
Reluctantly, Sōken lowered his grandson back to the floor.
"I understand," he said after a pause.
Sōken respected Ryūken's decision to live as an ordinary human. He had supported it from the beginning, even if it meant letting go of his own ambitions. He would not interfere now.
Still…
If Uryū had truly awakened Quincy power so early…
Sōken crouched down and placed a hand on Uryū's shoulder, his eyes gleaming.
"Uryū," he said warmly, "Grandfather supports your choice."
Ryūken's eyes widened.
"Father!"
He shot Sōken a sharp look. This was only giving the boy more confidence.
But Sōken only chuckled softly and rose to his feet, stepping back.
The three of them—Uryū, Ryūken, and Kanae—entered a quiet room deeper inside the house.
The door closed.
Silence settled, heavy and expectant.
Ryūken was the first to speak.
"Uryū," he said, his voice low and controlled, "your mother told me that you've already shown the ability to see spirits. Is that true?"
"Yes," Uryū replied without hesitation. "It is."
There was no pride in his voice. No fear either.
Ryūken closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temples.
He rarely doubted his son's words. Uryū had never lied—not once.
He cursed himself inwardly for leaving those books in the library. Even if he had removed them, though, it would only have delayed the inevitable. With Uryū's perception, the truth would surface sooner or later.
Opening his eyes, Ryūken fixed his gaze on Uryū.
"Then tell me," he said, "why you want to learn Quincy's abilities."
Uryū did not answer immediately.
Instead, he opened the book he had brought with him, flipping to a marked page.
"Father," he said calmly, "it says here that Quincies, because of their strong spiritual power, attract Hollows more easily than ordinary humans."
Ryūken nodded. "That's correct."
"Then that's why," Uryū replied simply.
Ryūken frowned slightly, then sighed as realization dawned.
"You want power," he said. "Power to protect others."
"You're only half right."
Uryū turned toward Kanae, his expression serious in a way that made her heart ache.
"I do want power to protect Mother," he said plainly. "The last time a Hollow appeared, Father drove it away. But you can't always be there."
His gaze didn't waver.
"If something happens when you're not around… I'll protect her."
Kanae's breath caught.
A gentle smile appeared on her face, but her eyes shimmered faintly.
"Besides," Uryū continued, turning back to Ryūken, "now that my power has awakened, I'll become a target no matter what. If I don't learn, then I'll have to rely on you forever."
His small fists clenched at his sides.
"I don't want that."
"I want the strength to protect myself."
The room fell silent.
Ryūken stared at his son, seeing not a child begging recklessly for power, but someone who had already thought through the consequences of his choice.
Uryū was precocious—just like himself.
He had always been.
And Uryū was right.
Ryūken was confident in his own strength. He believed he could shield his family from Hollows indefinitely. But belief was not certainty, and certainty did not last forever.
To live under constant protection… that was not a life.
More than that, hearing Uryū speak so earnestly about protecting Kanae stirred something deep within him.
Kanae broke the silence gently.
"Ryūken," she said, "Uryū is right. We can't protect him forever."
She looked at him steadily.
"If he learns only the minimum Quincy techniques needed for self-defense, that's enough. With this bloodline, danger will come whether we want it or not."
She smiled faintly.
"We don't really have a choice."
"Exactly."
The door slid open.
Sōken stepped inside without preamble.
"Kanae is right, Ryūken," he said. "I know you want an ordinary life. I supported that choice. But we don't get to choose our birth—or our blood."
His gaze sharpened.
"Quincy blood flows in us. Uryū understands that. He needs the power to protect himself… and his family."
Ryūken turned sharply.
"Father! Were you eavesdropping?!"
Sōken merely shrugged, unapologetic.
Despite himself, Ryūken hesitated.
Recently, a former Shinigami had mentioned something troubling to him: the concept of a high-spiritual-ground. A location where spiritual particles naturally accumulated, drawing both powerful souls and Hollows alike.
Karakura Town was one such place.
Living here meant Hollows would appear more frequently. Even if the ones Ryūken had encountered so far were weak, that could change.
He could not watch over Kanae and Uryū every second.
Even with half-blood Quincy servants guarding the estate, risk remained.
A long silence followed.
Finally, Ryūken looked down at Uryū.
"I can agree," he said gravely.
Uryū's eyes widened slightly—but he did not interrupt.
"But before you learn any Quincy abilities," Ryūken continued, his voice firm, "you must promise me one thing."
He knelt to meet his son's gaze.
"If you cannot agree… then I will never teach you."
The weight of the condition hung heavily in the air.
Uryū did not look away.
---
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