Soul Society: Love and Bonds [1] & Synopsis

Reincarnated into Soul Society, I ended up landing in Zaraki District.

My cheat is the [Love and Bonds System].

So, as long as I get along well with everyone, I should keep getting stronger and stronger, right?

And then…

......

“Trash! Unohana is total trash!”

“So, the one who mastered eight thousand sword styles… This is really all you’ve got?”

“Tch! Immortality is wasted on you! You break down after just two or three moves every time, yet you're acting all cocky in front of me?”

“Hurry up and pull your sword out of me already! Show me where your limit is!”

“Captain Batsu'unsai Katori, are you even trying?”

“Because I can’t feel a single thing at all!”

“Oh, Aizen-kun, you clearly don’t understand at all, huh? But at least you’re enthusiastic?”

“Transform! Hurry up and transform already!”

“What? Ha, Yamamoto’s Bankai? Anyone with hands could—”

“Eh? Wait, wait—!”

......

Under the silent gaze of the original captains of the Gotei 13, Fujimiya Makoto cradled his head, banging it against the floor:

“I can’t take this anymore! I really can’t… Please, please just shut up already!”

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Rukongai
Zaraki (District 80)

A slender beauty with flowing black hair wandered across the yellow sands. A short blade hung at her waist, her white haori fluttering against a black kimono, drifting gracefully in the wind. Straw sandals touched softly upon the dusty earth, leaving no trace behind—as if she were floating rather than walking.

Her delicate features wore a faint melancholy.

Endless.

Truly endless.

For a woman who had spent a thousand years embroiled in battle—who saw slaughter and swordsmanship as the sole meaning of her existence—a life without a worthy opponent was agonizingly long.

To master the sword, she had studied over eight thousand styles across countless years.

To perfect the art of killing, she had swung her blade tirelessly within this endless realm of death, destroying everything in her path.

To eternally savor the thrill of killing and being killed, she had even twisted her own soul, reshaping her Zanpakutō—the sword reflecting her inner self—into one capable of healing herself and others.

Each strike drew blood, relishing the chill of another's blade piercing her flesh, only to rapidly regenerate and thrust her blade back into her opponent.

All of it for the sheer pleasure of unending battle.

She needed no reason to kill.

How could one know their skill without fighting?

How could one know if their opponent had given their all without killing?

Battle was everything.

This was Unohana Yachiru—a villain whose infamy was unmatched in Soul Society's millennia-long history of carnage.

But now, after countless battles, she sensed her combat career slowly approaching its end.

Time had passed. Her strength had grown.

Yet now, Unohana Yachiru could no longer find anyone capable of piercing her body in combat.

This emptiness, this desperate longing to feel the blade’s edge and the deadly intent of an opponent, made her truly grasp the hollowness of existence.

No goals. No anticipation.

Everything was blank.

From Junrin’an to Zaraki, few could withstand even a single slash from her.

Even wielding a knife no longer than a finger, she crushed everyone effortlessly.

Life…

…was unbearably long.

“If only I could fall into hell.”

“I’ve killed so many…why haven’t I gone to hell yet?”

“Do I really have to die first?”

Standing still, Unohana Yachiru murmured quietly to herself.

“A place gathering millions of years of Soul Society’s strongest souls, home to all powerful Shinigami who have ever fallen… Even those left behind must be incredibly strong, vile beings.”

“Perhaps if I lived in a place like that, this void inside me would finally be filled.”

She craved life yet sought endless killing to fill the void deeper than that of a Hollow’s heart.

Unohana Yachiru was such a profoundly greedy woman.

Yet, as she indulged in this yearning for perhaps the thousandth time, a figure appeared in the distant sands.

The figure also noticed her, freezing instantly at the sight of her.

This was Zaraki.

A place of utmost desolation, brutality, slaughter, and fear.

The largest, poorest, and most twisted battleground at the very edge of Rukongai.

Countless souls fought viciously for scraps of food and drops of water with blades scavenged from who-knows-where—simply to survive.

Those rare souls who didn’t need food or water, known as "Whole Souls," were quickly devoured by powerful monsters who required sustenance—their bodies made of reishi, after all.

What remained were endless battles between the strong.

Every person encountered here was an opponent.

Appearance didn't matter.

Unohana Yachiru herself had emerged from this place, understanding its rules better than anyone.

Yet, the behavior of the child across from her was peculiar.

He stood watching from afar, hesitating for some time before finally calling out cautiously:

“…Excuse me, are you from Seireitei?”

Unohana merely cast him an indifferent glance.

Weak spiritual pressure.

Could such a pathetic little creature truly survive in a place like Zaraki?

Was this luck or misfortune?

Her fleeting moment of contemplation vanished quickly.

Having taken countless lives over innumerable years, the concept of "life" had grown numbingly distant for her.

Let alone pity, sorrow, or fear—such emotions were alien to her.

With barely a pause, she turned away, walking slowly in the opposite direction.

Weaklings didn’t interest her.

However, despite sparing him, the boy became inexplicably excited. He hurried toward her, calling eagerly:

“Are you leaving here?”

“Please take me with you!”

“I haven’t eaten in days, and there’s not even water nearby. Could you—”

The meaningless chatter from this weak soul grated upon her ears, like the shrill cries of a newborn awakening in the dead of night.

Annoying.

Unohana stopped.

Turning slowly, she drew an exquisitely small blade—no longer than her finger—from her sleeve under the boy’s startled gaze.

The next instant—

A flash of silver filled the boy’s vision.

Clang!

Metal clashed fiercely, sparks scattering brightly.

Though still bewildered, the boy had instinctively drawn the battered sword from his waist. The scabbard shattered, revealing the poorly maintained katana inside.

Unohana’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued.

In an instant, the boy recovered, instinctively using [Shunpo] to retreat swiftly dozens of meters back.

Vigilant.

Body tensed.

Only now did Unohana Yachiru truly look at him closely.

—A youth of perhaps fourteen or fifteen when he’d died, thin and somewhat handsome. His long hair was tied messily with grass roots. He wore a tattered brown kimono, its right sleeve crudely bound with rope. Half of his garment’s lower section was torn away for ease of movement, exposing thin legs, bare feet wrapped with scraps of grass rope.

Clearly dressed for survival, a refugee.

The shallow blade at his waist must’ve been stolen from someone else.

Unohana’s heart fluttered faintly.

Still very weak.

Yet, in that brief, instinctive sword strike, she had felt a strange sense of déjà vu—as though looking into a mirror. Like her, this boy had deeply embedded swordsmanship into his instincts.

His sword skills have clearly been trained right into his bones.

Interesting.

A nice diversion.

Without realizing it, a pleased smile appeared on Unohana Yachiru’s graceful face.

Even in an endlessly long life, there were small pleasures after all.

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This is a fan translation of 人在尸魂界，从恋与羁绊开始 by 纸刻 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!