A/N: If you're use to my stories than you know I love incorporating politics. So expect that. Expect a lot of secrets from everyone, some internal conflict for Ichigo, and questions on morality. This will be a good one. Im excited!

Terms to know

Kingusutsurī: A made up name for the second district of West Rukongai.

Shogi: Japanese chess

Haafu: A Japanese degragatory tearm for a person of mixed blood. Means tainted or impure blood.

Yutaka: A light, thin, traditional Japanese garment.

Nii-san: Brother

Ototo: Younger brother

Ginpaku Kazana no unzugina: Kuchiki heirloom scarf.

Gaki: Young punk

Reiatsu: Spritual pressure

Manuke: Idiot.

When the Rain Comes Knocking

xXx

10:46 p.m
Kingusutsurī, West Rukongai.
After months of luckless searching, there he was. Ichigo had found him. No, he had found Ichigo. Here, at a tribute gala for the noble clans, of all places.

There he stood, his ivory expanse embellished by intricate henna. The black lines were meticulously placed, gliding from the tips of his finger, twisting up his perfectly contrived torso and teasing at his protruding collar bones. Around his neck was a gold plated choker, and in a v formation, matching chains dripped down his body and attached to both sides of a coin canvassed sash that clung to his perfectly slender hips. The sash wrapped around a sheer pair of black and purple harem trousers that tied at the ankles, their lose transparency only aiding the fluidity of his movements. His subtly wavy hair, burgundy and pinned back by a golden sakura clasp, cascaded down his form, the silk fringes tickling at his well defined pectorals.

Every slid of the hand or role of the hips was accented by the clanking of coins, and he swayed like water, effortlessly, as if that was simply his essence. He was born to move.

He made music with his body, art with his existence. He was gorgeous and glittering, completely golden, and Ichigo had to take his time, because watching a man like this was not something that could be rushed. He didn't want to miss a thing.
As he stood there, seduced and sedated, Ichigo thought back to how he arrived here. Could this really be him? Could this be the lost Kuchiki heir?

xXx

Every important day of Ichigo's life was paired with the rain. It was as if the crying sky was an omen, promising prominence, signaling the arrival of a life altering moment. These instances, as innocuous as they may, at times, seem, were often integral to the man he'd become.

Rather he liked it or not, it was the rain that shaped him into the Kurosaki Ichigo he was today. No, no longer was he Kurosaki Ichigo, but Shiba.

As Ichigo sat in front of a stack of unfinished paperwork, the patter of rain against his office window acted as his guide through time. When he first realized he wouldn't be able to return home after the Quincy war, Ichigo had no intentions of involving himself in the political affairs of the Shibas. However, with everything changing as quickly as the passing of days, Ichigo desired a morsel of normalcy.

At first, that's all it was, a bit of security and comfort he'd forgotten was possible in this war wrecked world. It was a place to belong, but when the Shiba clan attempted to regain their place amongst the pariahs of high society, the Grand Noble Council gave them a caveat. Ichigo had to be Kukaku's heir. He was less than inclined to accept, but he was soon convinced once the full truth, as festered and ugly as it was, came into light.

The power dynamics of the three most influential noble clans were dangerously unbalanced. The regime of the Kuchiki clan had turned nefarious, and the Iori clan was falling in line. Their agenda was antiquated and involved twisting the law to subjugate anyone without pure aristocratic blood. No one was sure just how far reaching their plans went, but seeing as Daishiya Kuchiki, head of the Kuchiki clan, was nothing if not ambitious, it was possible that the entirety of noble society would become a holocaust if no one intervened. With only the Shihouin clan to oppose them, the underhanded manner of which theses fundamentalist navigated within the loopholes of legality was likely to destroy centuries of progression.

There was no one singular enemy. There was no point a and point b, and it was nothing as straight forward as his typical tactics: Fight the bad guy and keep standing up until you get the job done. This was years of ingrained bigotry reinforced by an obsession with power, and like Ichigo always did when the safety of people was concerned, he stepped onto the battle field, armed with political strategies and power plays.

It was one huge, dangerous Shogi game, and Ichigo fucking hated Shogi.

After Kakaku stepped down, Ichigo ascended to head of his clan. At first, he thought only negatively about the caste system, but with years his mindset evolved. In an optimal system that was headed by benevolent leaders, the noble clans would each have a varying amount of acquire districts within the Rukongai to see over. With the promise of protection and government paid programs - such as schools and healing centers, the district would enter into pacts with their benefactors. In exchange, they'd trade resources, and each family would send a member to serve their benefactors as samurais or concubines.

Yes, the caste was mutually beneficial, but the biggest exchange in the caste was the sacrifice of possibilities. If you were prosperous, you werre born that way. Your blood branded you of a function you could never surpass. While it was primitive, it promised intervention from otherwise apathetic nobility.

At least, this was the ideal application of the caste. However, the reality was anything but. Most noble clans halted their helpful hands around the sixtieth districts, because the reward wasn't worth the exerted energy. In fact, it was only the Shiba clan, at the insistence of Ichigo, who surpassed the sixtieth districts.

It was faulty and cracked by corruption, but Ichigo had long matured past the fanatical belief that he could dismantle a whole government with only a sword and a heart full of determination. He had learned much about settling and compromise in his new position. He learned the importance of bidding his time. Yes, Ichigo had changed, and sometimes, he wasn't sure if it was for the better.

A knocked pulled Ichigo from the blurring landscape, and for a moment, he mistook it for the rain. At times, the drops would sound similar to taps on his window that beckoned him to let the chaos of change in.

"Come in," he said, pushing aside the stack of neglected paperwork.

His door slid open to reveal an attendant. At his side was Rukia in a green yutaka.

"I present Kuchiki Rukia," the attendant said, bowing respectfully.

"Thanks Akio, but ya know, you don't have to do that. I can see her."

The young man jolted up and smiled shyly. "S-sorry, Lord Shiba."

Rukia rolled her eyes as she crossed over the threshold. "Just let him do his job, Ichigo."

He sighed, but smiled tiredly at the attendant. "You don't need to apologize. You can take your leave."

After the attendant dismissed himself, Rukia's feet dragged across the bamboo flooring. She flung herself in a chair opposite of Ichigo, and sunk in deep. In her lap was a clutched folder.

"What's up?" Ichigo asked, mimicking her sloppy posture.

"Renji's being a dumb ass."

Ichigo smirked lazily. "So? He's always been a dumb ass."

"Yeah, but he's out doing himself today." She gave Ichigo a wilted glare. "Today I was fitted for my wedding kimono."

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face. "I can't say I blame him."

"Ichigo, don't. I know what you're thinking, and it's not your fault. If it wasn't for you and Akiya, I'd be in Nii-san's harem." She moved her head in short, hasty swings. "I'd rather die. Trust me, there are worse things than marrying Akiya."

It was common knowledge that members of a clan were owned by their families, a fact that disgusted Ichigo. Daishiya, being a vehement opposer of what he called 'haafu', persistently treated Rukia as if she was subhuman. Only disowning her would've been too merciful, and the great Kuchiki lord did not do mercy. Instead, he kept her like a pet, or perhaps a weapon. For what, Ichigo wasn't sure.

It was obvious he never loved Rukia. In fact, after Aizen's betrayal was revealed, Daishiya did nothing to protect his sister, explaining that he'd not risk his life for the blood of a lawless street rat. Daishiya's heart was barren and bottomless, nothing went in and nothing came out. It was unlikely that he was even capable of complex emotions such as love.

When he decided to make Rukia a clan concubine, it took four swords and a lot of property damage to prevent Ichigo from making confetti out of Daishiya's limbs and listen to good sense. Fighting Daishiya would only make the situation worse, so a member of his clan - the Shiba's financial adviser - willingly agreed to marry Rukia, thus making her an official member of their family.

Ichigo mindlessly fiddled with a pen, wearing a heavy guilt in his eyes. "I just wish there was something more I could've done. I don't know, I-"

"Like what? What were you going to do, beat him into submission?"

"I've thought about it. I really hate that guy."

"Yeah, you and Renji both. Look, Ichigo, there's nothing wrong with settling sometimes. You can't always go for all or nothing, because then, a lot of the times, you end up with nothing. That's just growing up."

Rukia's lips sagged, and her heavy lids shadowed her downturned eyes."If anyone should feel guilty, it's me. Daishiya was happy to hand me over to your clan, because that way, he can argue that ours clans are on amicable terms."

"You have nothing to feel guilty about, Rukia. I'd do anything if it meant you were no longer spinning in the palm of that psycho's hand."

Rukia smiled softly. "I know, but things are looking bad, Ichigo. You know that. The council is split, and even members of the Shionins and Shibas agree with his anti haafu law changes. Those dusty bastards," she muttered. "They're probably being bribed by him somehow, and what makes it worse is, Daishiya's a haafu himself!"

Ichigo all but propelled himself out of the chair and towards the woman. "He is? Why didn't you tell me this before? That's a pretty important thing to overlook, Rukia"

"Because there's no proof. After the death of my Ojiisama, all the documents were doctored, and it's not like anyone would listen to me."

"Damn." Ichigo slumped back and resisted the urge to grab the saka bottle he kept stashed away. "Have I mentioned that I hate that guy?"

"Only a dozen times in the past week," Rukia jested.

After a moment of thoughtful hesitation, Rukia leaned forward and slapped the folder on the desk. Her palms pressed into the blue material, and her eyes bended the light around them like two moons. "Ichigo, I have an idea...but it's kind've crazy."

"At this point, I might need crazy."

A smile crept onto her face as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and opened the folder with eager hands. "Okay, so you know the story behind my Ojiisama death, right?"

"Yeah." Ichigo scoffed. "It's the Gotei Thirteen's biggest conspiracy theory."

"And I know I told you I had an Otōto who was never found after the attack."

"Yeah, you didn't talk about it a lot. It seemed really hard on you."

"It was," Rukia admitted, "I loved my Otōto, and after years of searching, I finally came to terms with the fact that he died...but…"

"But?"

"The other day, Kisuke-san mentioned offhandedly that it would be great if he just showed back up. That it would be the answer to all our problems. At first, I just waved it off, but it got me thinking. What if he is alive?"

"What if he is?" Ichigo asked, shrugging a shoulder. "That would be great for you, but how does it fix anything?"

"Ichigo." She closed the folder and held it out. "He's the rightful heir to the Kuchiki legacy."

Ichigo's eyes sharpened, and he swallowed hard. The extended folder took on a whole new look. It looked like hope.

He plucked the folder from her hand and promptly opened it up. In it was a singular photo depicting a young boy with raven hair and heavy, coal eyes. They burned Ichigo with their familiarity. It was like looking at someone he knew through a fog, their muddied features making them impossible to place.

"His names Byakuya."

Ichigo looked to Rukia and then back to the folder. The name was like a lighthouse with a dim bulb. It desired to guid him to the source of this implacable sensation, but it just wasn't enough.

'How do I know that name?' Ichigo thought. 'It couldn't be… right? But those eyes…'

The folder was like a priceless artifact sitting in the epicenter of a treasure trove. It hummed with importance, and it's ethereal aura taunted you. You had to pick it up, but the moment you did, the ceiling began to cave in. You sealed your death sentence. Ichigo sat the folder down."Rukia, this isn't even a long shot. We'd have a better chance of getting Kenpachi to become a ballerina than finding your brother."

"Ichigo, I told you it was crazy, but-"

"Not this crazy. You should know not to take anything that loon says too seriously."

"Will you listen?!" She back handed Ichigo against the head and earned a giant scowl in rebuttal. "He was never found! Not a single trace, and Ojiisama ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu was gone too!"

"Don't you think it's possible it was stolen with the rest of their belongings? Wasn't that thing worth eight mansions?"

"Ten, actually. Don't you think the whole story of rogue Shinigami sounds a little outrageous?"

"Now you sound like the rest of those conspiracy theorist."

"Yeah, well maybe they're right," Rukia asserted, slapping both palms against his desk as she stood bolstered. "Think about it, Ichigo. A few rogue Shinigami taking out Ginrei Kuchiki and a handful of elders? That's insane. Where there's smoke there's fire, and this whole situation is a damn inferno."

Ichigo blinked a few times before he shook his head in ridicule. "Even so, if he's still alive, then why was he never found by the Kuchiki clan? Like you said, they searched for years. Why was his reiatsu never picked up? Why did he never come back?"

"Because maybe someone tried to kill him! Would you come back to that? He was probably terrified," Rukia shouted.

A strained silence followed Rukia's outburst before she flopped down in the chair. Her arms lifted and fell like an exasperated bird that realized it still couldn't fly. "Look," she said, "I know there's all these unanswered questions. I know it's more likely that he died. I'm not hanging onto some hopeful delusion here. I'm just saying, isn't it worth finding out? Ichigo," she pleaded, her voice quivering with a desperate frustration, "this could change everything."

Ichigo's crossed arms slacked. That file stuck to his eyes like leeches. It was now bluer, bigger, impossible to ignore. It almost shook, silently imploring exploration.

"I know that look, Ichigo." She smirked and nudged the file closer to the nobleman. "Ya know, if we looked into this, we'd have to keep it a secret from the elders. I know you're dying to do something rebellious. Unless, of course, you don't have it in you anymore."

Rukia knew him all too well, as her eyes said much more than her words. Something in Ichigo wouldn't rest these days. His whole body tingled with a numbness, as if it had fallen asleep and the only way to wake it up was by shaking it violently. It urged him to take real, tangible action. It craved a taste of that single minded audaciousness that one filled his mouth until it was overflowing. It called out for disobedience.

"Things are getting pretty boring theses days," Ichigo muttered.

Holding out for a few more painful seconds, he snatched the folder and held it up. Just as he began to open the file, he stopped and shot Rukia a reproving glare. "If we do this, what would make Daishiya give up his position? There's no proof he's a harrfu."

"Yeah there is," Rukia said. "A simple blood test could prove it. There's just never been a reason to contest him, but if the rightful heir came back..."

"We'd have all the reason we need."

Ichigo ran fingers over the oddly reminiscent picture of the boy. From the moment he picked it up, he knew he wouldn't put it down. He was just borrowing time, delaying in case life decided to intervene. He looked at the rain pounding against his window. What other sign did he need?

"Okay," he said, exhaling his resignation. "Were going to do this." As Rukia's face began to brighten, Ichigo said, "But don't get too excited yet. I still have no clue how we're going to have any luck finding him when the entire Kuchiki clan couldn't even do it."

"Well," Rukia said, a devious glint reflecting in her eyes as she perched her chin against her palm, "to pull off something crazy, we'll need help from the craziest man we know."

xXx

8:45: p.m
Kingusutsurī, West Rukongai

"Damn it," Ichigo cursed, tugging at the loftily designed haori that hugged his body uncomfortably. "Why do you drag me to these things every year? I hate wearing these clown suits."

"Hey, I don't like it either, Gaki," Kakaku said as she attempted to both situate her hairpins and not trip over the hem or her yutaka. "But we have to-"

"Yeah, I know. We have to kiss a bunch of asses."

As they walked under an archway that dripped with decorative lights, Kukaku grinned lewdly. "I thought you liked kissing ass."

A red dusted his cheeks, but he belittled it with a scoff.

"Ya know," she said, "Maybe you can meet a nice nobleman here or something. It's been a long time since you two split. What? Aren't you over him?"

"I am. And no thanks, I already spend all my time with nobles. I don't want to date one too."

"Well you need someone to unplug whatever's been stuck up your ass lately."

"Gah, stop being so gross, woman!"

"Oh, give me a break. I can't exactly hang loose tonight. It's an important event."

Ichigo was all too aware of this evening's importance. This gala was thrown annually by the representatives of the highest districts to both show gratitude towards their benefactors and give the clans a chance to steal dissatisfied districts away from other clans. Even
though the Shiba clan was given back their place amongst the noble hierarchy and the Grand Elder Council, out of fairness, took several districts from the three other prominent houses and gave them to the Shibas, since the clan who governed the greatest number of influential districts had the most power, the Shiba's held the least authority.

The more districts you had, the more power you had, and therefore, you were more apt to have your voice heard amongst The Grand Noble Council. Ichigo had always thought of status and political power as something trivial, but admittedly, if having it meant keeping it out of malicious hands, then Ichigo thought there were worse things he could be fighting for.

"And if I rub the right elbows, maybe I'll get chosen for that open council seat," she said as they neared the entrance to banquet hall.

"Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo turned around to see Urahara dressed in a simple yutaka, his head free of its staple accessory.

"Ill met you inside," Kakaku said as she walked ahead. Ichigo nodded before walking over to the shopkeep.

"Urahara, I almost didn't notice you. You look… nice."

Urahara chuckled as he plucked at his garment. "I can clean up nicely when I want to."

"What are you doing here?"

"Ah, I'm here with Yoruichi." Leaning in, he whispered, "The way to survive these things is to bring someone who can rescue you from the madness when it gets to be too much."

"Now you tell me," Ichigo jested, scoffing lightheartedly. "Why's Yoruichi here anyway? I didn't think she was really active in her clan."

"Once nobility, always nobility," Urahara said. "Unless you go off the grid my me and Isshin-san did, it's not something you can easily escape."

"Great," he huffed and grimaced. Feeling the inception of a rain storm drizzle against his cheek, Ichigo looked up to the darkening sky curiously. "Well," he said, turning to leave, "I guess I'll see you inside."

"Not so fast, Kurosaki-san," Urahara said, nodding his head over to a dimly lighted court yard left to the entrance corridor.

"Why so secretive, Geta-bōshi?"

"I have something to show you," he explained, reaching into the fold of his yutaka, "and I didn't want to risk anyone overhearing."

"Did you find something out?" Ichigo asked, stepping eagerly towards the man.

"Not quite." Urahara pulled out some sort of rolled up document and handed it to Ichigo. "But I've been floating this around the district."

Ichigo looked over his shoulder before he grabbed the scroll and began to unroll it. Looking down, his narrowed eyes glided across the page. "What is this?"

"This is the power of computer science, Kurosaki-san."

In his hand was a blown up portrait of a porcelain skin man with a sharp face and intense eyes. His hair was black and feathery like the plumage of a raven, and his lips were as pink as Sakura. Physically, he looked about the same age as Ichigo.

"This looks like…"

"Kuchiki Byakuya? I know. With a few variables taken into consideration, we can use a program to simulate what a person will most likely look like when older."

"Yeah, I think they actually use something like this in The World of the Living for kidnapping cases."

"Yeah," Urahara nodded, "but it's a little more complicated for us. I have to take into consideration someone's reiatsu levels, how old they were when they were last seen, if they were born a soul or not, and how that affects the rate of their physical aging, but once I did all that, this is what we got. Of course, this doesn't take into considerations any drastic changes to appearance, which, in this case, is a good possibility."

"Still," Ichigo said, his eyes lingering on the portrait of the impossibly handsome man, "this is great, Urahara. If he's alive, we'll definitely find him."

The rain picked up, prompting Urahara to look up towards the sky and hold out a hand,. The droplets gathered in the crevices of his palm. "You never know, Kurosaki-san," he said, winking at the man. "He may be closer than you think. Come on, let's go kiss some hands and shake some babies."

Ichigo made his way through the banquet hall. It was gargantuan, about as big as four divisions put together. The room was teeming with nobility dressed in their most festive attire, and the soft hum of chatter bounced against the walls. No doubt that the noise would turn into a thunderous wave of drunken prattle as both the night and the sake continued to flow.

Quickly, though unintentionally, Ichigo lost Urahara to the sea of haughtily up turned noses and bombastic conversation, but within a few moments of roaming the room in search of a sake serving waiter, Ichigo heard a familiar voice.

"Looking for this?"

Ichigo turned to see the green eyes of Itaru Akiya, financial adviser to the Shibas, and as a result, official member of their clan, looking back at him. Akiya was one of the few members of the caste system who had somehow managed to move past the jail cell that
was his humble beginnings. At a young age, he thought himself subjects that superseded the advantageous life skills offered by noble funded schools.

Most books were confiscated by the original members of the noble clans, as they feared it would lead to rebellion or rejection of the caste. They wanted people bonded by their blood instead of benefited by books and education. However, Akiya went to the lawless territories that laid past the eightieth districts only to realize murder wasn't the only thing you could get away with there.

Books were abundant, and he took to teaching himself a multitude of subjects. When he returned, Akiya was financially savvy, and from offering his services to as many businesses that would take a chance on him, he built up a reputation. Eventually, this lead him to his position as the Shiba's financial adviser.

Akiya wasn't the exception to the rule, he was the defier of it. Ichigo liked that. He liked that a lot.

"How'd ya' know?" Ichigo asked, gratefully taking the cup."

"You had that look in your eyes." He lifted the rim of his cup to his mouth, and his words were muttered and muffled. "Doesn't everyone need a little bit of liquor to make it through these things, Lord Shiba?"

Ichigo let loose a tiny groan. "You really don't have to call me that. We're friends."

"I would think that after decades of service to your clan, you would be use to such formalities."

"What can I say? I'm stubborn."

"Yes. I've only met one man more stubborn than you in my life, and he also has the uncanny ability of always finding trouble." Akiya chuckled. "I'm starting to think I enjoy surrounding myself with headstrong people."

"More stubborn than me?"

"I know, it seems impossible." Akira spun his glass absentmindedly and put on a lopsided grin. "I shudder at the idea of you two in the same room together. World's might crumble." He hummed lightly in consideration and asked, "Speaking of stubborn men, have
you seen Arbari Taichou today?"

Ichigo scowled over the rim of his rapidly diminishing cup. "What did that giant buffoon do this time?"

"Just the usual. Rukia-san told me he was in search of a fight today, and thought he might find it at your division."

"Yeah, he came running in early, yapping on and on. I told him to get lost."

"I'm sorry." Akiya simpered, and his shoulders slumped in dejection. "I believe you are receiving his redirected pugnaciousness. I know it is me he really wants to fight."

"He's still giving you a hard time?" Ichigo asked, nabbing a replenished cup from a passing by waiter.

"Yes. Although, he no longer threatens me every time our paths cross. Now he just growls at me like a dog. He thinks I'm in love with Rukia-san."

Ichigo eye's shifted to the side, appraising Akiya with intrigue "Are you?"

Itaru gave a humorless chuckle. It was breathy and edgy and not very like him. He brushed his callused fingers through his chestnut waves and said, "Not you too."

Ichigo shrugged a shoulder as he stared hazily into the blob of babbling nobility. "It's just going a little bit beyond the call of duty, ya know?" His eyes softened as they moved to Akiya. "No one ever expected that from you."

"You're one to talk about going beyond the call of duty, Savior."

Ichigo scoffed and waved a hand flippantly. .

"I wanted to. Not because I harbor feelings for her, but because she has been nothing but nice to me since I was indoctrinated into your clan. What Kuchiki Daishiya wanted to do with her is sickening." The ends of his mouth twisted as if the name tasted like spoiled milk. Or more so, it was his own intimate disdain for the man in question that pierced his tongue. "Besides, it's not like we're expected to have children or even share a life. We're marrying only in name, nothing more. Beyond that, we're friends. I don't understand what he doesn't grasp about that."

"Hey." Ichigo said, clasping down on Akiya's shoulder. "I don't want to sound ungrateful. Really, I appreciate what you're doing for Rukia. Besides, if you didn't marry her, I would've had to."

Akiya grinned at the Shiba lord. "Yes, and because you're the head of our clan, you would've been expected to make an heir with her, and as beautiful as Rukia-san is, I think we all know that your bedroom preferences lay elsewhere."

Ichigo grimaced, gulping down the rest of his drink to drown the thought. "So just because I dated a man once, you assume that I only date men?"

"Are you saying you like women also?"

"Hell no! I just don't like people making assumptions about my love life." Muttering, Ichigo said, "Vaginas terrify me."

Akiya began spilling with laugher and a bit of sake. In between strained attempts to catch his breath, he said, "They don't have teeth, Shiba-san."

"I really don't want to know what they have. Anyway, just ignore Renji. That's what the rest of us do." Ichigo directed his wondering, glazed over eyes towards Akiya. "He'll come around."

"I hope so..."

"Look, the thing you have to understand about Renji is, he's always thought of himself as a stray dog. Rukia's been his only constant family since he came to Soul Society. So, to him, being able to marry her is his biggest dream. I've known him for a long time, so
even though he doesn't say it, I can imagine he's feeling pretty low on himself right now. Deep down, he's probably grateful."

"I understand that," Akiya said, a tiny frown sagging at his lips. "But, isn't this better in the end? This way, he can still be with Rukia-san instead of living with the knowledge that she's being kept in a harem. Life can't be all or nothing. Compromises must be made at times."

"Heh," Ichigo scoffed, "I'm hearing that a lot these days."

The two spoke on casual matters for a few minutes before Ichigo noticed throngs of people gathering around different sections of the room. In one, there was a man and a woman wearing matching belly dancer outfits, each spinning flaming batons. They shimmied around each other, following in rhythm to the soft thrum of dance music playing from an overhead speaker. The guests watched memorized, ogling the pair with shameless interest.

In other sections were contortionist twisting themselves into impossible positions, jugglers, acrobatics, and pairs dancing with such an unabashed intimacy that it bordered on exhibitionism.

"Ah, it looks like the entertainment has started," Akiya noted.

Looking over the bobbing heads of over zealous voyeur, Ichigo asked, "What's this about?"

"Apparently the noble clans have been saying that this event feels more like an obligation than something they genuinely enjoy for years. I guess the district representatives finally decides to do something about it."

Ichigo's eyes veered away from the orgy of touching limbs two stepping in a tantalizing display. "This seems a little inappropriate, don't you think?"

Akiya hummed as his eyebrows wormed around ."If you think this is inappropriate, just wait till later." When Ichigo gave him a questioning glare, he explained, "These entertainers are apart of a group called 'The Black Halo Society'. They're entertainers, mostly hired to do events for high society, and they call themselves the fallen."

"The fallen?"

"It's a term derived from Judeo-Christian theology. Fallen angels were angels who sinned or rebelled, and were banished from heaven. Supposedly they all consider themselves one big family of beautiful people with nowhere else to call home. Anyway, they do other types of performing, the kind that happens behind shut doors."

"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked, and Akiya glared at him until the question answered itself. "You mean their prostitutes? That's not legal in the upper districts."

Akiya gave an endeared huff, as if Ichigo was a doe eyed callow, blabbering on innocently. "You should know how it is, Shiba-san. They call it erotic dancing, but that's code word for high end prostitution. Their benefactors often look the other way to these types of things so not to risk their good standing with the districts. I'm sure all the privately provided rooms will be in full use tonight."

"Let me guess? Their benefactor's Daishiyas?" When Akiya nodded, Ichigo scoffed in destain. "Of course, that's the reason the Shibas can't acquire any upper districts. Well, I refuse to resort to bribery and hush money. The districts should be set up to where no one should have to lower themselves to sex work."

"In an idealistic world, that would be nice, but Soul Society is no nirvana. Besides, the performers are not forced into servitude, and to them, they take just as much honor in their jobs as we do."

"You really think that? It's not like they choice this line of work because it was their childhood dream or something. Most sex workers are put into positions where they don't have many other options."

"That's true, but you forget, I've been all around Soul Society, and as such, I try to put myself in people's shoes instead of judging them in mine. There are any number of variables that lead these performers or any sex worker to their current circumstances, none of which we can understand unless we lived that life."

"I get that, but it's the same benefactors who look past children slavery rings that run themselves in the same way. It's one thing for a grown adult to be a sex worker, but those children are innocent and easily manipulate into that lifestyle. They never had a choice." Ichigo's eyes hardened resolutely, just as they did when he was fifteen. "I'll never look the other way on that."

Akiya smiled big and took Ichigo's empty glass. "And that's the unwavering determination I know and believe in. Now, go make these manuke believe in it too."

Ichigo scoffed and unfolded his chest resting arms. "Yeah, I'll go make my rounds. That's the whole reason I'm here, right?"

"Here," Itaru said, offering Ichigo his half finished glass of sake, "You're going to need this." As Ichigo walked away, glass in hand, he said, "And don't forget to smile!"

xXx

10:15

Kingusutsurī, West Rukongai.

"Lord Shiba, are you having a good time this evening?"

Ichigo's stomach cuddled at the hauntingly familiar voice. His body was conditioned to the negative stimulus like he was one of Pavlov's dog. Just one sound and he was ready to bite. He inhaled deeply before turning to meet the contemptuous glare of Kuchiki Daishiya.

The noble's hair fell from his head like razors of raven and cut through his man's glacier blue eyes. His whole appearance was as sharp and deceivingly harmless as a pane of glass.

"I was," Ichigo said, huffing in disdain.

"Now, Lord Shiba, can't you at least pretend to be cordial?"

"Nope. Unlike you, Kuchiki, I have an aversion to lies and bullshit."

Daishiya fluttered his eyes and pursed his lips in a coy fashion. It was almost as seamless as his gloved hands sitting neatly like folded napkin art. Everything about his physicality was just too perfect, and not in the good way.

"Perhaps you're being especially irritable because none of the district representatives want to seek refuge under your clan. It can't be helped. They notice a novice leader when they see one."

"No," Ichigo contested, taking one giant step forward, "They notice a corrupt bastard who will turn an eye on their legally dubious and immoral operations. Just wait, Kuchiki, after the Grand Noble Council holds their annual session, you won't be so smug."

"Ha," Daishiya mocked. "You tell such funny jokes, Lord Shiba. You should be our entertainment tonight. Such a more fitting position for a Quincy haafu like you." Ichigo took another warning step forward, and Daishiya moved his fingers to ghost over the hilt of his sword. "Watch it. You would be wise to keep your distance."

Ichigo smirked and took a tiny, taunting step closer. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you have that weird obsession with germs."

As he took another step forward, Daishiya griped his hilt tightly enough to turn his knuckles alabaster. Ichigo scoffed. "Get over yourself, Kuchiki. I would never touch you, even if it meant pissing you off."

Ichigo turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard Daishiya say, "Oh, am I not your type? I suppose you only like to mingle with Quincy scum like yourself."

"No, I just like my guys with a little bit of sanity."

"I'm completely sane, Lord Shiba. You just bring out the worst in me."

"I guess you should've killed me that night you came to take Rukia." Ichigo scoffed in amusement. "Your mistake."

Daishiya's hand loosened, and his lips curled with malice. "Do want to know a secret, Lord Shiba? It wasn't out of pride that I didn't finish you that night. Nor was it out of compassion or a desire to spare Rukia from the gory mental scar she'd surely have from seeing her companion take his last breath in front of her." He rose his nose haughtily and looked defiantly at Ichigo. "It was because I wanted you to lay there and suffer until your very last drop of blood stained the asphalt."

Ichigo spun on his hells and was a moment away from lurching towards the Kuchiki lord, but a stymie hand came down on his shoulder.

He looked up to see the slyly amused face of Urahara glaring down at him. "Now, now, this isn't the proper behavior of two clan leaders."

Daishiya tutted and turned on his heels. "I do not need lessons on tact from a dubious man as yourself," he said before he walked away.

Urahara turned towards Ichigo with a knowing glare. "Kurosaki-san-"

"I know, I know," he groaned. "But that guys asking for it." He pulsed his clutched hand in frustration. "Fucking psycho."

"True," Urahara said, "but that's a psycho who would've loved for you to instigate a fight in the middle of this gala."

"Yeah, I know." Ichigo sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "Thanks for stepping in there."

Urahara went to speak, but before he could, the lights in the hall began to dim, and there was an announcement for everyone to clear the floor and make room for the main act.

Like beautifully dressed sheep, all attending members herded around the perimeter of the floor, eagerly murmuring to each other in speculation.

"What's the main act?" Ichigo asked.

Urahara shrugged a shoulder. "Beats me, but I have a feeling it's going to be very entertaining."

Ichigo blinked at the smiling man a few times before two silk ribbons unfurled from the ceiling, prompting a current of silence. The ripples of red dripped against the floor under the gleam of a spotlight. For a moment, that was all that happened, the winding fabric

building up anticipation as it sat mysteriously motionless.

A loan from slithered across the open marmoreal flooring, his movements methodically executed. Everyone's eyes tensed in immersion, following along with the same degree of fidelity to the performer as he had to his moves.

With great patience, he intertwined his body with the silk and began pulling himself up. His limbs twisted, and his glistening, sculpted muscles flexed as he worked his way up the ribbons, the crimson molding and moving in perfect union with his henna enriched ivory skin.

He wove the ribbons with the fastidious intricacy of a black widow, and tangled himself in this makeshift web as if he was his own prey. All the while, his seamless shifting followed the sultry, dark toned beat of the music. The silk unraveled around his tightly coiled form, and he went plummeting towards the floor, only to save himself with an effortless execution. Suspended, his neck craned like a swan, and he allowed the silk to swallow him whole. For a moment, he was devoured. The audience watched in rapt anticipation. Ichigo was no exception.

He emerged in a fury of sensual splits, each quicker and more arduous than the next. As the music sped up, so did he, whirling and rolling up the rippling fabric, arching his intertwined form with a domineering desperation.

With how the music built up to the crescendo like one might build up to climax, full of erotic tensity, one might assume this was a tale of sexual conquest, but Ichigo saw a different story. He saw a man fighting against the consequences of his circumstances. The preformer's arms would constrict as he fought against the silk, and when he fell, it was his own strength alone that kept him clinging to life. Again and again, the silk snaked around his skin with the obstinance of a possessive creeping plant, and he continued this endless conflict against the manipulation of the red vines. It wasn't until he was consumed by the cruelty of chance that he broke free. The performer became the dictator, no longer a victim of the silk's will.

As the music faded out, the performer slid down the silk, his extended arms and poised legs meshed with the fabric in perfect harmony. The tips of his feet brushed the floor, and his landing, as quiet as it was, resonated deeply. There was a splendid stillness in the room, a moment of collective captivation that ended in a roar of applause.

Ichigo thought the performer would bow and take his leave, but instead, he stood there, his posture stoic and detached. The lights came up, and he still made no moves to leave, but the audience immediately took to mingling, all the previous magic lost. Once the illusion ended, the performer was simply that. He was the help, a tool, and once properly utilized, he was nothing but a pretty face discarded against many. A walking used tissue.

Only, Ichigo didn't look away. He studied the performer and his vague feature, features that seemed to emit a loneliness even with the burden of such a distance between them.

"That sure was something," Urahara commented.

"Yeah…" Ichigo managed, his feet moving forward before his mind had time to join in on the conversation.

Ichigo wasn't sure what prompted his movements. He had always found something seductive about a man who carried his silence like the burdensome of a sword and shrouded himself with the protection of a shield.
This man definitely had a weight about him, a mass accumulated by untold stories and privileged secrets. He had substance, and it surrounded him like a fog. You couldn't see him fully until he got within touching distance, and while the obscurity deterred most, it pulled on Ichigo.

Ichigo, as much as he contested it, always brought with him chaos, and he never desired something easy.

When another preform approached the man, Ichigo stopped and took a moment to observe him from his closer perspective. Finally, he could make out his face for what it really was, only it wasn't his beauty that struck Ichigo the most.

It was right there in front of his face, this palpable truth, and yet he stood there frozen by disbelief. His eyes stayed anchored, almost obsessively. He was sure he looked like a henti, a total creep, but still he stared. He stared as if sure the man's features would shift into something more comprehensible, but nothing changed. This improbable reality was not simply a trick of the light.

"Could it really…" he whispered to himself.

So enthralled he was, Ichigo hadn't noticed Urahara's presence until he said, "Huh, I guess the best entertainment has yet to come."

Ichigo blinked rapidly, as if these actualization were merely dust in his eyes. "Am I seeing this right?"

"Unless we've both lost our heads somewhere, I'd say so."

Ichigo found that more believable than the allegedly dead heir of the Kuchiki clan resurfacing as an aerial silk preform and a high end prostitute for the same society that he was born into. He had been so close this whole time, standing in Ichigo's peripheral. He was a fallen angel hiding on holy soil. Lucifer would be proud.

Fifty years a Shinigami and five a clan head, and Ichigo still had an impulsive Itch that he could never scratch. So he heedlessly moved forward, only to be stopped by the thwarting hand of Urahara yet again.

"What are you doing?" Ichigo hissed.

"I'm stopping you from ruining this before it even begins," Urahara explained, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Ichigo fretted his brow and looked back over his shoulder towards the performer with torn eyes.

"We have to play this safe," Urahara urged. "What would you say to him? I think you're the rightful heir of the Kuchiki legacy, please come save us from your demented brother? If he's sane, he'd be running before you even made a proper introduction."

"Well…" Ichigo bit his lip before steadying his eyes on the older man. "You're right. We don't know anything about him. All we know for sure is that he never came back."

"Which means there's something that kept him away."

Ichigo scowled, turning to see the now empty spot of the presumed lost Kuchiki prince. "That's not a great place to start."

"It may not be the worst startling line ever.

Ichigo turned to Urahara with expectant eyes and a newly revived smirk. "I'm guessing you have a plan."

"Kurosaki-san, who do you think you're talking to?" Urahara started to walk past him, but stopped at his side with a foretelling grin that Ichigo knew all too well. "I have twenty."

xXx

Tifanny91: Hey love. The kiss was my favorite part. I had so much fun writing them as children. Their both cinnamon rolls. Too pure. Hope you enjoyed this new chapter.

Fluffychanel: Thank you! I hope I can continue to keep you invested. This is one of those stories where nothings as it seems and the plots really complicated. It should be a good one.

LustfulAvarices: Thanks for always keeping up with my stories. Hope you enjoy this one.

Haikhi: Thank you darling!

Meenathequeen: I tried not to leave you hanging too long. ;) Enjoy!