Time Changes

I went with a simple name Kaneki

I'm back though I'm considering handing this story over to some other author so that it doesn't face discontinuation.

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Arima Stood in the Garden

The rain poured heavily from the sky, drenching the earth in its relentless downpour. Yet, not a single drop touched him.

Each droplet evaporated the moment it came near, turning to mist before it could reach his skin.

He stood there, silent and unmoving, his golden eyes staring into the distance. But his gaze was unfocused. His thoughts were elsewhere.

It was time.

Inside, in one of the carefully prepared rooms, Isane Kotetsu—Yachiru's vice-captain—was tending to her, guiding her through the birth of their child.

Arima's hands trembled.

He quickly clenched them into fists, trying to steady himself. His fingers dug into his palms as he forced the shaking to stop.

He wasn't afraid. He had ensured everything would go perfectly.

The child would be healthy.

The child would be strong.

The child would be free of the flaws that plagued naturally born hybrids.

And yet... he felt nervous.

He took a slow, deep breath. Then exhaled.

But his mind refused to stay in the present.

Instead, it drifted back to the past.

This was only possible because of a conversation he had with Aizen.

They had been discussing the nature of hybrids, their flaws, and the instability that came with their mixed existence.

Then Aizen had proposed something unexpected.

"If natural-born hybrids are defective, rather than changing the child… change the mother."

"Use the mother as a storage—a controlled source of power—to create the hybrid in a stable, guided way."

A simple suggestion, but one that struck Arima like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Of course.

The real problem had always been balance.

Naturally born hybrids lacked stability. Their conflicting natures shortened their lifespans or made their abilities uncontrollable.

But if the child's foundation was changed during its development, those flaws could be erased.

It wasn't about changing the child. More like shaping its growth from the very start.

And since there was no greater catalyst than the Soul King's body, the answer had been obvious.

Arima refined the idea further.

Aizen's method involved injecting a foreign power into the mother, making it a natural yet non-intrinsic part of the child.

A power with an on/off switch.

A power the child could use without suffering.

But Arima saw a way to do it even better.

Rather than using any foreign power, he and Yachiru had created one themselves.

They had taken the spine of the Soul King.

A piece of an entity that had a natural tendency to develop sentience.

And they had erased its will.

For one month straight, they had bombarded it with their combined reiatsu—his and Yachiru's—overriding its nature. Reshaping it. Making it theirs.

Not just power. Not just stability.

A perfect foundation for their child.

At first, Yachiru had been furious.

She had scolded him, her voice filled with anger and frustration.

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?! If you had, we could have researched ways to fix you too!"

But when she understood what they were doing… she had agreed.

And strangely…

It had been too easy.

That was the unsettling part.

Arima had calculated that erasing the Soul King's will while maintaining perfect equilibrium between their reiatsu would take at least four months.

Yet, it had only taken one.

Why?

The question lingered in the back of his mind.

Almost as if the Soul King allowed it.

Before he could dwell on it further—

A sound.

A faint, weak cry.

Arima froze.

The world around him lost its color.

The sky. The ground. The rain. The air.

Everything faded into muted gray.

Time stopped.

His mind had reached 100% capacity.

A realm where time no longer moved—the suspended world.

He could hear nothing.

See nothing.

Feel nothing.

Except for the overwhelming emotions of the moment.

He steadied his breathing.

Then, in a single step, he crossed the distance to the room where Yachiru lay.

The world resumed its pace.

Color returned.

Sound rushed back in.

And then he saw Isane.

And in her hands—his child.

His golden eyes locked onto the small, delicate form.

For a moment—

His thoughts went blank.

This was so real.

Yachiru turned to him, a radiant smile gracing her face.

That smile—one of pure joy. Of fulfillment.

Arima understood it perfectly.

For as long as he had known her, this was her dream.

Just like him, she had wanted this.

The chance to be a mother.

Isane hesitated.

Her hands trembled slightly, torn between offering the child to him or to Yachiru.

But before the indecision could linger, Arima spoke.

"Yachiru, hold the child first."

At his words, Isane gently placed the baby into Yachiru's arms.

A peaceful expression settled on her face.

She gazed down at the child as if the entire world resided within that small, fragile body.

Her dark locks fell over her shoulders as she leaned closer, cradling the baby carefully—lovingly.

Then, Arima's eyes flickered to the child's back.

Etched into their body and soul was a swirling centipede.

A symbol.

A mark of success.

The integration was complete.

The child was whole.

Arima stood there, frozen in place, as Yachiru held their child in her arms.

His mind, usually sharp and calculating, felt utterly blank.

It wasn't that he didn't understand what was happening. He did.

He had planned for this, accounted for every possible complication, ensured that everything would be perfect.

And yet—nothing could have prepared him for this feeling.

His breath was shallow. His hands, steady in battle, now trembled as he reached forward.

Yachiru noticed but said nothing. She only smiled, her expression soft, understanding.

Gently, she placed the baby into his arms.

The moment he felt that tiny weight against his chest, something inside him shifted—broke, even.

A warmth spread through him, overwhelming in a way he couldn't describe.

He had known power, had controlled forces beyond most people's comprehension.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The child was so small. So delicate.

And yet, despite everything, Arima knew—this little one was strong.

He cradled the baby close to his heart, afraid to let go, afraid that this moment might slip away.

Yachiru watched him with a quiet smile, her voice soft when she finally asked,

"What will we name him?"

Arima looked down at the baby's face, taking in every detail. The soft wisps of hair, the tiny fingers curled into fists, the slow, steady breathing.

For a moment, he considered many names, ones that held meaning, history, weight.

But none of them felt right.

Then, as if the answer had always been there, waiting for him to find it, he spoke.

"Kaneki."

Yachiru's smile grew.

She repeated the name softly, letting it settle into the air.

Arima looked down at his son—his son.

Kaneki.

---

Five Years Later

Arima sat quietly in the garden, watching the sunlight filter through the trees.

The scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers surrounded him.

The rain that once fell here so often had given way to peaceful afternoons like this.

From inside the house, Yachiru's voice called out.

"Arima! Keep an eye on Kaneki, will you? He's been a little troublemaker lately!"

Her tone was playful, but there was an unmistakable note of warning in it.

Arima didn't turn his head. He simply raised his voice slightly.

"I am keeping an eye on him."

Things had changed.

He was no longer dressed in his combat gear, nor in his iconic white coat.

Instead, he sat there in a loose yukata, his body slightly out of shape from years of peace.

His once razor-sharp physique had softened, no longer forged for constant battle.

The house, too, was different.

Where once it had been meticulously organized, designed for a man who lived with only purpose—now it was filled with toys.

The walls that once displayed his battle souvenirs were now covered in drawings and small scribbles made by a child's hands.

His swords—once an extension of himself—were nowhere to be seen.

The White Reaper was dead.

Arima was retired.

Not far from him, Kaneki was running around the garden, playing hide-and-seek.

His small feet barely made a sound as he darted behind a tree, giggling as he tried to evade his pursuer.

Eto.

She may have been his Zanpakutō spirit.

She may have been born from his hatred.

She may have been a devilish fiend in her own right.

But when it came to Kaneki…

She was different.

She treated him like a younger brother. A mischievous one, yes, but one she cared for deeply.

She had been the first to hold him after Yachiru.

She had been the one to lull him to sleep when he cried.

And now, she was the one chasing after him, acting as if this game of hide-and-seek was the most important battle of her life.

"Kaneki! You can't run forever!" she called out, her grin wicked but playful.

Kaneki, ever the troublemaker, stuck his tongue out.

"I don't need to! You'll never catch me!"

He bolted again, his small but absurdly powerful body moving like a blur.

Arima watched it all with quiet amusement.

Kaneki's constitution was unbelievable.

Even at this young age, 99% of Shinigami wouldn't be able to scratch him, even if they went all out his physique allowing hum to run normally at speeds that takes Shinigami shunpo to achieve.

And yet, Eto never stopped chasing after him despite having most of her physical abilities turned off.

Not because she thought she could win.

But because she wanted to see him laugh.

Arima leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting up to the sky.

Five years ago, Kaneki had come in his life.

Five years ago, he had chosen to abandon his vengence.

Now…

Now, just seeing his boy smile made him feel it was worth every moment he spent like this.

The White Reaper was gone.

And in his place—

Was simply Arima.

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Stones and Reviews please