A Father's Frustration;

“I asked our relatives to arrive later, young Sasuga.” He stated. 

Pause.  

From the transition in derision to informality, there was no evident reputable difference in his tone. As if robotic, Sasuga would find all efforts attempting to decrypt his intentions through speech alone futile. Having the known the man the decades surrounding his youth, not even the son could find refuge in the comfort of his own father.  

Finally, the Taichō spun on his sandaled heel, allowing his narrow, hawk-like gaze to level on the smaller counterpart. As if judging, Itada’s piercing stare moved from Sasuga’s feet, all the way to the peak of his head. Features, posture, and lastly, the anxiety that seemingly exuded through his pores all became apparent and was properly analyzed without inexactitude. Taking a step forward, the modest distance that separated the two was shortened to an extent as the dark mane of the Nanabantai commandant swung which each passing step until they were but a mere footfall apart.  

He didn’t sigh, and his gaze never fled from Sasuga’s form; it was akin to a General entertaining his subordinate. Even as family, this militant bond wouldn’t shatter so easily.  

“As your commanding officer, however, I need to assess your skillset before I grant you clearance for field work.” 

Another forceful silence ensued. 

“Show me your Shikai.” 

As Sasuga used the supernatural mantra that beckoned forth the wake of his Shikai, Itada’s eyes remained stoic, devoid of either disenchantment or satisfaction. A man truly hard to read, his posture give little to the imagination and his silence neither confirmed nor denied anything. Until-

“Good. You’ve discerned the natural property of your Shikai’s expediency. However, have you actually used its utility in combat?” The father expressed in an equally emotionless tone, yet a slight sense of curiosity did linger towards the end of his words. 

Turning on his heel, Itada’s mane of deep raven swung around as his back faced the boy. Standing without a visual guard, the Captain remained silent for another moment. It was an obstinate sense of stillness for neither party uttered a sound. Sasuga had to have been confused, it would have only made sense since no command was given thusly after his inquiry was stated. What could the Captain have been plotting within the depths of his multifarious and at times, frightening mind?

“Strike me with your Shikai. Now.”

Itada's dialect would end, and if nothing else was certain from his words, the solemn gravity he normally portrayed was coursing through his speech. 

And as a subordinate followed to perfection, the command his superior gave him, Sasuga would lift his blade and drop it with the aim of severing his father’s limb completely.  

“Tch.” The Captain shrugged inwardly and without hesitation, a powerful concussive wave pulsed from Itada’s form, attempting to knock his son back, shoving him hard into the opposing wall that rested behind him. A master of spiritual control and a man who possessed enough useable energy to fill an ocean, the art of simply flexing his reiatsu was enough to preform artless applications with startling results. If his tactic was indeed successful, the boy’s attack would be negated beneath the force of his spiritual might and his form would have been hurled back well before the mercury blade even fazed through his Haori.  

The shockwave would race around the room and cleared it of all neatness. Furniture shredded near instantly as the windows and wooden frames fractured and collapsed. Itada had left the area used for the eventual ceremony in complete ruins before turning to face his son. 

“You failed to find a weakness? I see to see one very palpable one.” His tone was lifeless, though Sasuga had been around his father enough to read beyond the emotion and into the literal words he used.  

Sighing, the Captain folded his arms over his chest. “Your weapon is indeed a fearsome foe for melee combat. Nonetheless, rarely will you face an opponent solely in close quarters; it’s a tactless art used by those who lack a strategic mind. Any opponent with decent combat experience would decimate your Shikai from afar, even more so since your weapon only cuts through organic matter.” Itada concluded and left little to the area of empathy. Stepping forward, the dark-haired superior would extend a hand to the boy, attempting to aid him in lifting his form from the wall itself.  

“What will you do against a stronger opponent? A wiser opponent? Will you bask in its only strength or work to compensate for its Achilles heel?” 

“Don’t guess, my child. Do.” Itada had zero tolerance for those who simply assumed they could do better. Perfection in its truest form was unachievable, and the sane Shinigami could respect its untouchability. Nonetheless, where perfection was unattainable, progression was within every stretch of men: Shinigami, Human, Hollow and Quincy alike. They would train, and they would grow stronger. The Taichō would not have his own flesh in blood—his son—fall behind in the race for power. It only discouraged him more seeing that the boy had the potential.  

Using a hand to knock particles of dirt off the boy’s shoulders, Itada continued in words. “In due time, if you prove yourself worthy, I will grant you access to our family’s forbidden Kidō.” The Captain paused. “This will be a privilege, not a gift; you will earn their uses.” A simple wave of the opposing hand adopted several retainers to enter the tattered chambers. After seeing the mess the two Seiryū contributed to, they knew their purpose in full. Without being asked, the concierges of the noble family began reconstructing the room in its former image. Meanwhile, Itada turned towards the singular throne which sat as the epicenter. 

“Now go. Clean yourself and return shortly. Your ceremony will begin in one hour. Lateness will not be tolerated.” And with that, Sasuga was dismissed and his father, moving along the center of the room, took seat at his equitable chair.  

Two long, extensive oak tables were spaced in perfect symmetry before the main throne, equal in size and distance apart, this would be were the noble clansmen would rest. In the center, before all eyes, a single pillow with a small table before it—this was Sasuga’s eventually locality. When he returned, he would be met with dozens of faces, and above them all, the gaze of his pejorative father.   

As the chalice fell to the table, a single applaud ensued. All remained silent, and if Sasuga peered around for its origin, he’d see it coming from non-other than his father, Itada. Gradual, slow, and almost methodical, the man’s hands came together in unison in slow repetition and before long, several others joined in, and several others following. In a matter of moments, the entirety of the room came to a united applause to celebrate the completion of his Ceremony. Finally, in the eyes of his family and before those of the most significant stature, Sasuga would be recognized as a man. An Adult Dragon.  

You did well today. He didn’t need to voice his thoughts, Sasuga would have been aware of such a realization by a kinesthetic gesture that hadn’t been used in quite some time. The corners of Itada’s lips perked and lifted, forming a casual smile as his hands continued to compliment his mood. To all around, and surely to Sasuga, it was as if Itada was actually proud of the boy. A new sensation that came sparingly as the Clan head rarely showed such emotional ties.  

“Congratulations, Sasuga.”