The walk back wasn't long—ten minutes at most—and they met no one along the way.
Yori was naturally extroverted, the talkative type in everyday life.And from how Sato spoke… the old man hadn't enjoyed this kind of conversation in years. Even the smallest question, or the slightest hint of curiosity, was enough to open the floodgates. Words poured out of him like water long trapped behind stone.
Names drifted out during their talk—Seireitei, Shinigami, the Shin'o Spiritual Arts Academy, Hollows—and every description matched exactly with what Yori remembered from the original story.
His grasp of the situation grew clearer.
"Sato-san… the Hollows you mentioned earlier—do they appear often in West District Three?"
Yori added a touch of unease to his voice, just enough to sound natural.
"Not often. This area is technically the outskirts of the Western Mountain region, but I haven't heard of a Hollow attack here in years."
Sato smiled as if to calm him.
"Among the three hundred and twenty districts surrounding Seireitei, West District Three is one of the safest. Many Shinigami originally came from here—they still have friends or family living in this area. On holidays, some even come back to visit. So security is quite good."
"As long as you don't wander too close to the northern forests… there's normally no danger."
To ordinary souls, Hollows were the nightmare no one wanted to imagine. Sato's reassurance was expected.
When he mentioned the forest, he gestured toward the shadowed stretch of dense greenery beyond the district's edge.
"The northern forest… I understand."
Yori quietly memorized the warning.
The Soul Society was vast. Each district of Rukongai held wilderness zones untouched by anyone—places filled with threats that could end a new soul instantly.
As they talked, a house came into view. It was just as rundown as Yori's own. Their steps naturally slowed, but even so, the short journey soon ended.
Following Sato's instruction, Yori poured the clean water into an old clay cistern until it reached the brim. Then he slid a wooden board over the top to seal it.
Setting the empty bucket aside, Yori exhaled softly. He'd learned everything he needed for now.
"Sato-san… thank you. I learned a lot today."
"My head feels clearer too. I think I'll head back and organize my thoughts. I won't trouble you further."
At that, Sato's expression dimmed faintly.
Their meeting was brief, but Yori's warmth and easy manner had brightened the old man's day more than he'd experienced in years. Still, though disappointment flickered in his eyes, he kept a gentle smile.
"If you need to return, I won't keep you. I've nothing to offer as hospitality anyway."
"Just let me say one last thing—don't mind an old man's rambling."
"Even though you can survive out here in the outer districts… it's nothing compared to the inner districts. A young man like you will want companionship someday. The inner districts—that's where your future ought to be."
The seriousness in Sato's tone carried genuine concern. Not politeness. Not habit.Truth.
Young souls rarely died of old age.Once their memories resurfaced, loneliness and lingering regrets of their past lives often twisted together—many eventually fell into despair and transformed into Hollows.
Not uncommon.Not new.
But Yori was different from almost every soul here.His wish wasn't to cling to past life regrets—it was to make something of himself in this world.
"I will. Thank you, Sato-san. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Yori-kun."
Yori bowed lightly, then stepped out into the sunlight.
He could feel the old man's gaze on his back until he turned a corner behind a crumbling wall.
A faint sigh drifted behind him as footsteps receded.Sato Shigeo turned back to his lonely home.
Such partings were nothing new in the long, quiet years of Soul Society.
Souls did not hunger—but peace was still rare.
At an intersection, Yori stopped.
He did not turn toward his shack. There was nothing there worth lingering over.
"Inner district…"
He lifted his gaze toward the opposite path—the direction leading deeper into West District Three.
The inner district meant better living conditions. More people. More information.And—most importantly—closer proximity to the world of the Shinigami.
Sato had lived long, but his knowledge was scattered.As for the Shin'o Spiritual Arts Academy, he only knew the name—not the admission conditions, not the schedule, nothing of substance.
And the most important question of all—what era is this?Sato couldn't possibly know.To the average soul, time had long since lost its meaning.
Yori didn't hesitate.
He set off toward the inner district.
At first, the scenery remained unchanged—broken houses, patches of weeds, silence.
Occasionally, elderly souls shuffled near their homes, their eyes empty and lifeless. They gave Yori a brief, disinterested glance before returning to their blank routines.
But as he continued onward, the dirt road grew smoother.The houses—still simple—were repaired, tidied, shaped by careful hands.
Warm spring sunlight spread across his skin, carrying a faint heat.
He should have been tired after rushing so far. Yet the warmth seeped into his limbs, easing the soreness from his body. His steps felt lighter.
He barely noticed. He simply assumed his body had loosened after long walking.
The closer he drew to the inner district, the more vivid the life around him became.Small vegetable plots appeared beside homes.Faces held faint traces of vitality instead of dull vacancy.
Then—A sudden pulse tugged at his senses.
Yori turned.
A small squad of black-clad figures, swords at their waists, sped across the horizon at breakneck speed.
The shihakushō.The standard uniform of the Shinigami.
They flashed past, disappearing into distant specks of black.
Yori lowered his gaze and continued toward his goal.