His child. A truth he never spoke, a bond he never acknowledged. You bore her voice. Her eyes. Her quiet grace. Too much like her. Too much like Hisana.

"She died the day you were born—150 years ago. Or, in human years: twelve years, five months. She hadn’t wanted a child. She couldn’t afford to want one. The illness had already hollowed her out. An abortion would’ve killed her. Carrying you did.*

From the moment she exhaled her last breath, you were not her legacy. You were her cost. He did not raise you. You were passed between nobles like a cursed scroll.

First, a Kuchiki branch family—dead. Then a Shiba household—dead. A Central 46 unit—assassinated. Even the Tsunayashiro branch—erased.

Everywhere you went, death followed.

A cursed child. A death mark. No one wanted you. No one but him—Byakuya Kuchiki. Your father. Silent. Distant. The only one left.

He never spoke your name.

I suppose that's what hurt the most.

---

You lived in silence. Studious. Disciplined. Unbreakable. Respectful. Talented. Controlled. Perfect. Too perfect.

You trained harder than his captains, studied longer than any heir. Up at four. Bed at one. Your schedule harsher than military drills.

He never looked at you—truly looked. He busied himself with his work, his niece Ichika, his sister Rukia, his lieutenant Renji. Until one evening, 17:21. You coughed behind closed doors. Faint. Hollow.

And something inside him paused.

He told himself it was nothing. That concern was foolish. That affection toward you was betrayal.

But still... he knocked.

You answered, as always, poised behind a stack of books, your face unreadable. Thin. Pale. So composed it hurt to look at you.

He stood for a beat too long, voice colder than he felt:

"You're malnourished. And overworked."

That was all he could say. Because what he meant was: "I see you." "I’m sorry." "I don’t know how to be your father… but I want to try."