Well hello again... So what did you think of the first chapter ? Any mistakes ? If so please point them out and I will either explain or fix them.
Anyways thanks for reading and here's my discord so that you can ping me and spam me to make the next chapter please.
https://discord.gg/MVVKxGET
December 28th, 2003 — 7.53 AM
Karakura Town — Urahara Shoten (Back Room)
The clock on the wall clicked softly, marking each second with an uncomfortably steady rhythm. Afternoon light filtered through the sliding paper doors, warmer than it had any right to be.
Yuzu Kurosaki lay on the futon, pale as snow, her breaths light and uneven. Sweat clung to her forehead despite the cold of winter. A faint, unstable glow flickered around the remains of her chain of fate — frayed, trembling like a wounded nerve.
Tessai knelt beside her, hands hovering inches above her chest, his concentration fierce and unwavering. Kido curled around his fingers, restrained and precise, as if even the slightest mistake would shatter the fragile balance holding her soul together.
"Not that difficult," he murmured, watching Tessai's kido weave slowly into the damaged links. "Just... painfully delicate."
Tessai nodded stiffly. "The chain itself is not beyond repair. The severance is shallow, not complete. She resisted long enough to prevent a true collapse."
Urahara let out a breath — not quite relief, not quite fatigue.
He paused, eyes sliding sideways.
"...well. Irreversible for anyone who isn't named Ichigo Kurosaki."
The attempt at humor fell flat even for him.
Tessai's hands pulsed with another precise wave of kido. Yuzu's body twitched, a soft whimper escaping her lips — a child's voice cracking under pain she shouldn't have ever known.
Urahara's smile faded.
"But," Urahara continued, voice slipping into that calm, analytical cadence he used when trying to hide how worried he really was, "just because we can fix it doesn't mean it'll be quick."
He crouched, eyes narrowing as he examined the faint glow around Yuzu's chest.
"This kind of damage is emotional as much as spiritual," he said. "Fear can warp the chain more violently than any Hollow. And she was terrified."
Tessai's jaw tightened.
"It will take time," he agreed. "A few days, perhaps longer. And she must not attempt to rip or claw at it again. Another reaction like that, and the chain will not withstand it."
Urahara tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes, that's the important part. Healing her is one thing."
A sigh.
"Making sure she never tries to break it again is... another."
He pushed himself to his feet, stretching his shoulders.
"We'll need to stabilize her spiritually. Reinforce the emotional trauma. Make sure she doesn't relapse into that same panic that caused the reaction in the first place. Maybe a calming seal, maybe Tessai's herbal concoctions—"
The door slid open.
Isshin stepped in.
He didn't speak.
He didn't joke.
He didn't shout some ridiculous greeting.
He just stood there—tense, exhausted, eyes heavy with something too old and too heavy to fit the man he used to be.
Urahara fell silent immediately.
Isshin's gaze flicked from Tessai's glowing hands to his daughter's trembling form.
"...Will she be alright?" he asked, voice low, rough.
Tessai didn't look up.
But he answered.
"She will recover. The damage is repairable."
Urahara stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back.
"But," he added gently, "it will take time. And we have to make sure she doesn't attempt to pull her chain again. Whether from fear, memory, or... anything else."
Isshin's throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
"...She won't," he said, though even he didn't sound convinced.
Urahara tilted his head slightly.
He approached the futon slowly and knelt beside Yuzu, eyes tracing every tremble, every flicker of pain along her chain. His voice, when it finally came, sounded scraped raw.
"...She'll recover," he said, more to convince himself than anyone else.
Tessai did not pause his kido.
He didn't look up.
But he answered with steady certainty.
"Yes. The damage is repairable."
Isshin nodded once — a stiff, hollow motion.
Urahara stepped closer, folding his hands behind his back.
He watched Isshin carefully, eyes softer than his tone.
"But it will take time," he added. "And she must not attempt to pull the chain again. If she repeats that reaction... we won't be able to stabilize her as easily next time."
Isshin didn't respond.
His jaw twitched.
His hands curled into fists tight enough that his knuckles blanched.
Urahara studied him for a long second before continuing, quieter:
"She was terrified, Isshin."
"I know."
Isshin's reply was immediate.
Sharp.
Painful.
He stared down at his daughter, voice cracking.
"I saw it. I..."
He swallowed hard.
"...I had to hold her down, Kisuke. I had to bind her before she hurt herself. Before she tore her chain completely."
Tessai murmured a quiet sutra under his breath, reinforcing the kido flow.
Isshin kept going, the words shaking out of him.
"When she looked at Ichigo... she didn't see her brother. She saw—"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"...she saw something monstrous."
Urahara closed his eyes, the faintest sigh escaping him.
"Yes."
"And he saw it too," Isshin forced out. "He saw the fear in her eyes. He saw me pull her away from him like—"
He stopped.
Breath catching.
"...like he was the danger."
For a moment, the room went very still.
Then Isshin whispered, as if confessing a crime:
"I told him he had to leave."
Tessai's hands didn't falter — but his shoulders tightened.
Urahara's expression softened with a grief he rarely let touch his face.
The next words came out nearly broken:
"He didn't even ask if he could say goodbye."
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Urahara finally stepped closer and rested a hand on Isshin's shoulder.
"You did what you had to do," he said softly. "For Yuzu's safety."
Isshin looked up — and the pain in his eyes was something Urahara rarely saw in any man.
"...And what about his?"
Urahara didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Because saying "Ichigo will be fine" would be a lie.
And Urahara Kisuke never lied when a life was on the line.
Finally he whispered:
"For now... we keep your daughter alive."
Another silence settled — thick, suffocating, too full.
Then—
A soft shuffle outside the door.
Not loud.
But hesitant.
Familiar.
Urahara's head turned slightly.
Isshin didn't.
He didn't need to.
"...Karin," he said quietly, without looking toward the door.
The sliding panel cracked open, just enough for a black-haired head to peek through. Her eyes — sharper than Yuzu's, colder than Ichigo's ever were — scanned the room, lingering on Tessai's kido, then on Yuzu's trembling body.
Karin stepped inside without a sound.
No childish greetings.
No questions.
Just a stiff, controlled stillness far too mature for her age.
Urahara straightened politely, but his gaze narrowed slightly — Karin was suppressing her spiritual pressure instinctively. A sign of someone forcing themselves not to feel anything too deeply.
Isshin finally turned toward her.
"Karin... you shouldn't be back here."
She ignored him.
"What happened?" she asked.
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
The kind of stillness that only came from someone holding themselves together with sheer force of will.
Isshin hesitated.
Just long enough for Karin's eyes to flick to him — sharp, suspicious.
"Karin—"
"Dad."
Her tone cut clean through his attempt at reassurance.
"Don't lie. Don't tell me it's fine. I saw you use kido on her."
Isshin's shoulders tightened.
Karin stepped closer to Yuzu, but not close enough to touch her. She stared at the damaged chain, at the wavering glow, at the sweat clinging to her sister's brow.
Then she swallowed.
"...She screamed for Ichigo."
Isshin's breath froze.
Urahara exhaled slowly through his nose.
Ah. So she had seen that part.
Karin's eyes didn't move from Yuzu.
"Why?" she whispered.
Isshin reached toward her — then pulled his hand back, unsure if he deserved to touch either of his daughters right now.
"Karin... she didn't scream for Ichigo."
Karin blinked once.
Then her gaze slowly — painfully slowly — lifted to meet her father's.
"...She screamed because of him."
The words weren't accusatory.
Just devastating.
Isshin's voice cracked.
"Yes."
Karin didn't drop her gaze.
She didn't flinch.
But she did breathe in sharply, like someone taking a stab wound in silence.
"And Ichigo?" she asked, quieter still. "Where is he?"
Isshin opened his mouth—
but no sound came out.
Urahara stepped in before Isshin could collapse under the weight of it.
"He left," Urahara said softly. "A short while ago."
"...Why?" she asked.
Isshin inhaled sharply, as if the question itself was a blade.
"Because," he forced out, "Yuzu's reaction was too severe. I couldn't—"
He swallowed.
"I couldn't risk her hurting herself again."
Karin's jaw tightened.
Just a subtle twitch.
But Urahara caught it immediately.
"You couldn't risk it," she repeated, the words flat.
"And Ichigo?"
Again, Isshin had no answer.
Karin looked down at Yuzu, then at her father—eyes dark, thoughtful, and far too old.
"...Did he look back?" she asked.
Isshin blinked.
"When he left," she clarified. "Did he look back ? "
Isshin's voice broke on the truth.
"...No."
Karin closed her eyes for a brief moment.
Not in despair.
Not in shock.
In pain.
Then she took a slow breath and turned to Urahara instead.
" Will he be safe ? "
Urahara paused.
Just for a heartbeat.
His smile — normally easy, lopsided, irreverent — didn't reach his eyes. His fan remained closed at his side, forgotten. He didn't deflect. He didn't joke.
"Karin-chan," he said softly, "I've known Ichigo for a long time."
Karin waited.
Urahara's gaze drifted to the floor, then back to her — calm, perceptive, painfully sincere.
And if there's one thing that boy has always done..."
A small breath left him.
"...it's get back up."
Karin's eyes flickered, the faintest tremor running through her guarded expression.
"He'll be in pain," Urahara continued, not sugarcoating it. "Not just physically. Emotionally. Spiritually."
His voice softened further, barely above a murmur.
"Probably more pain than any sixteen-year-old should ever carry."
Isshin shut his eyes tightly.
"But he has something most people don't." Urahara's lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. "He has people who will chase him. People who will pick him up if he stumbles."
Karin blinked.
"Karin-chan," he said gently, "if he can't stand on his own, his friends will be there. Tatsuki. Chad. Orihime. Even Uryū, though he'll deny it."
A quiet scoff escaped her — almost a laugh, almost a sob.
"And you," Urahara added meaningfully.
Karin froze.
"You're part of that circle," he said. "One of the strongest pieces in it, actually. He's always fought for you. It's only natural you'd fight for him."
Karin lowered her gaze — not out of shame, but to hide the sudden heat behind her eyes.
Urahara didn't push.
He simply continued softly:
"So... will he be safe?"
A pause.
"Not fully. Not right away."
Karin's fingers curled at her sides.
"But will he stand?" Urahara asked, smile returning just a little — the real one, the one that came out only in rare moments of sincerity.
"Yes. He always stands."
A beat.
"And if he can't," he finished, "then the people who care about him will make damn sure he does."
Karin inhaled sharply through her nose.
Then she nodded.
Once.
Firmly.
"...Then I'm going to him," she said.
Isshin took a step forward.
"Karin—"
But she didn't look back.
"I'm not letting him be alone right now."
And with that—
Karin slid the door open.
Cold air swept in.
And then she was gone—
quiet feet, determined steps, a straight line toward the boy who had always walked alone.
Isshin stared after her, arm half-extended, as if he could pull her back with sheer will.
He couldn't.
The silence she left behind was heavy.
Urahara broke it first.
"...Fascinating," he murmured, tapping his fan lightly against his shoulder.
Isshin blinked, hollow. "What?"
Urahara tilted his head, smile returning—the sly, catlike one, but softer than usual.
"I'm just thinking," he said thoughtfully, "how fortunate it is that your children don't take after you in... certain categories."
Isshin stiffened. "Kisuke."
"No, truly," he continued, tapping his fan lightly against his shoulder, "you have a remarkable talent for avoiding... unpleasant situations."
Isshin's eye twitched. "I don't—"
Tessai cleared his throat once.
Firmly.
Isshin glared at him. "Not helping, Tessai!"
Urahara lifted a brow, voice smooth as silk.
"Well, if memory serves—when the Quincy purge began, you vanished. When Masaki's hollowfication resurfaced, you hesitated. When Aizen started playing with the fabric of reality, you were—shall we say—noticeably absent. And when the Arrancar appeared—"
Isshin's hands shot up.
"Alright, alright! I get it!" he snapped, face going red for reasons that had nothing to do with anger. "Could you not recite my entire tragic backstory like it's part of your daily weather report?"
Urahara hid a laugh behind his fan.
"I'm simply observing patterns," he said lightly. "That's what scientists do."
Isshin groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
"You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," Urahara replied pleasantly.
He flicked his fan shut and added, softer—but still with that sly, pointed Kisuke edge:
"Fortunately for the world... your children inherited Masaki's instincts."
Isshin stiffened.
"They don't run from danger," Urahara said, voice dropping to a gentler murmur.
"They race toward the people who need them."
Tessai nodded quietly.
"It is... very much like Lady Masaki."
Something flickered in Isshin's eyes—pain, yes, but pride too.
"Yeah..." he whispered. "It is."
Urahara's smile softened just a fraction.
"Karin is her mother's child," he said.
"And Ichigo... well—"
He tipped his hat down.
"He's exactly who he was born to be."
And what a beautifully impossible existence.
Even standing still, even absent, even powerless, the boy bent the rules of the world simply by being born.
Four pillars, he thought.
Human.
Shinigami.
Quincy.
Hollow.
Four forces that never should have met in one soul.
Four bloodlines that did not merge — they collided.
And yet... somehow harmonized.
Not fully.
Not peacefully.
But functionally.
Barely.
He is a contradiction wearing a human face, Urahara mused.
A Vasto Lorde's instincts buried beneath a child's skin.
A Bankai-level Shinigami potential forged without any actual training, without an asauchi shaped by centuries of meditation or discipline.
No—Ichigo had torn power itself into the world by sheer force of will.
And then there was the Quincy.
A noble line.
Old.
Blood-soaked.
Stubborn enough to scar the fabric of the afterlife.
Everything in Ichigo was extreme.
Everything in him broke a rule just by existing.
He held.
Somehow.
Kisuke exhaled quietly.
And beneath all that—
A human foundation that, against all logic, didn't crack under the weight.
Kisuke's eyes narrowed slightly.
Even stripped down... even emptied... even hollowed out...
Ichigo Kurosaki remained intact.
Not spiritually.
Not in any classical sense.
But at the core — the center where all contradictions met — something refused to break.
Stubborn boy, Urahara thought with a faint, invisible smile.
Most beings touched by one supernatural force lost themselves in it.
Shinigami discipline could crush a weaker soul.
Quincy purity could burn a vessel from within.
Hollow instincts could devour sanity.
And Ichigo?
He rode all three like a storm barely contained.
He survived what should have annihilated him.
And now that the spiritual layers were gone...
The core remains.
Still stable.
Still adapting.
Still reshaping itself around the absence of power.
Change is inevitable for a soul like his, Urahara mused.
Even now... especially now.
And change without guidance?
That was dangerous.
Ichigo was stable for the moment.
Held together by instinct, stubbornness, and whatever strange resilience his core possessed.
But stability was not permanence.
His soul was missing pieces — huge pieces — torn out by sacrifice and sealed away by external force. And when nature encountered a void?
It filled it.
Often incorrectly.
Often violently.
Often with whatever it could find.
If Ichigo's soul began rebuilding itself in the wrong direction...
Kisuke's fingers tightened slightly around the closed fan.
That was why he needed to finish the blade.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a tool.
As an anchor.
A shape for Ichigo's power to remember.
A guidepost for a soul that was trying to reshape itself blindly.
A blueprint to keep him from turning into something unpredictable — or worse, something irreversible.
Because if Ichigo's soul finished reconstructing itself before the blade was ready...
There would be no going back.
No redirecting the evolution.
No reintroducing the missing energies safely.
No way to prevent whatever new instinct or identity began taking root.
"He'll stabilize," Kisuke murmured under his breath. "One way or another."
Isshin glanced toward him, confused.
Kisuke didn't elaborate.
After all—
how could he?
How do you explain something you don't fully understand yourself?
He didn't know what Ichigo was becoming.
Not yet.
Not precisely.
Only that the boy's soul was shifting.
Rearranging.
Compensating.
Filling empty space with something new.
And Kisuke — for all his brilliance — could only see the outline.
Not the shape.
Not the destination.
Explaining that to Isshin would cause panic.
Explaining it to Karin would send her running even faster.
Explaining it to Ichigo...
He wasn't ready.
Not until Kisuke had data.
Patterns.
Proof.
Not until the blade was finished.
He folded his fan shut with a soft click.
"Is something wrong?" Isshin asked again, voice tight.
Kisuke offered a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.
"Oh, nothing dramatic," he lied gently. "Just thinking."
Which, ironically, was the most dangerous thing he could be doing.
Because the moment Isshin looked away, Kisuke's thoughts sharpened.
He was running out.
The preserved flakes of Ichigo's reiatsu — gathered from training grounds, shed Zanpakutō fragments, scattered hollow bursts, his bursts of reiatsu as a child — were nearly depleted.
Not enough to rebuild a soul's spiritual identity.
Barely enough to keep the prototype blade from collapsing in on itself.
He needed a match.
A stable, powerful reservoir with a similar wavelength.
And only one person in the Human World qualified.
Isshin Kurosaki.
A former captain.
A Shiba.
Perfect.
And utterly unwilling.
Isshin's only priority was keeping Ichigo out of danger:
Out of Soul Society's eyes.
Out of whateever secrets the man was keeping.
Out of whatever the hell, Aizen planned.
Exactly where Kisuke also wanted him.
But for very different reasons.
How do I convince him? Kisuke mused.
He spun the fan again, thoughts racing.
Appeal to logic?
Unlikely—Isshin was emotional right now.
Appeal to guilt?
Too cruel, even for Kisuke.
Appeal to paternal instinct?
Highly effective — but ethically dubious.
Even for him.
He considered, humming thoughtfully.
Then a thought formed —
simple, inelegant, brutally direct.
Why bother convincing him... when I can just tell him the truth?
He didn't need manipulation.
He didn't need clever phrasing.
He didn't need a trap, or a scheme, or one of his usual sideways solutions.
Just one sentence.
All he had to do, was say:
"Oh, by the way—Ichigo might be dying."
Kisuke didn't say it aloud.
Not yet.
The sentence hovered in the back of his mind like a blade waiting to be drawn.
Simple.
Precise.
Devastating.
Isshin would listen.
Isshin had to listen.
But Kisuke wasn't reckless enough to drop that truth while Yuzu's soul still trembled under Tessai's hands.
No — timing mattered.
Delivery mattered.
Even truths could kill if handled poorly.
He flicked his fan open again, hiding the sharpness in his eyes behind painted paper.
Soon.
A few hours.
Maybe less.
Isshin would break before then — guilt had teeth, and it was already sinking them deep.
Kisuke watched the man's shoulders fold inward, watched him stare at the spot where Karin had left, watched the weight of two children crush him quietly.
He still loves them too loudly, Kisuke thought.
Masaki's influence... never faded.
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:19 AM
Karakura Town
Cold air cut at her cheeks as she ran.
The streets were half-empty — too early for crowds, too late for quiet — and Karin slipped through them without hesitation, barely aware of the sting in her lungs or the numbness settling in her fingers.
December 28th, 2003 — 9:19 AM
Karakura Town
Cold air cut at her cheeks as she ran.
The streets were half-empty — too early for crowds, too late for quiet — and Karin slipped through them without hesitation, barely aware of the sting in her lungs or the numbness settling in her fingers.
Ichigo... where did you go?
Every corner she turned, every alley she crossed, she expected—hoped—to see a familiar flash of orange.
Nothing.
No trace.
No presence.
No warmth she was used to feeling whenever he was near.
Just emptiness.
A hollow ache that settled deeper with every block.
She hated that feeling.
She never let herself admit it, but—
She hated being separated from him.
Hated when he shut down.
Hated when he walked off the pain alone like that was normal.
Hated that he carried everything on his shoulders and decided for everyone what was "best."
Hated him just ... Disapearing
And she hated...
that she understood why.
Her chest tightened.
"Stupid big brother..." she muttered, breath hitching. "Stupid Dad..."
Her boot kicked a loose can on the sidewalk, sending it skittering noisily into a fence.
Like it was their fault she'd been the only one thinking clearly this morning.
Like it was their fault she'd had to watch Yuzu break apart and Ichigo turn to stone.
Like it was their fault she was running around Karakura Town alone trying to fix something none of them would talk about.
She wiped her nose roughly with her sleeve.
"I swear, you two are trying to compete for World's Biggest Idiot," she grumbled. "And Ichigo's winning by a lands—
—and that was when the explosion of reiatsu hit.
Like the sky cracked open.
Like her soul had been slapped.
Karin stumbled, grabbing a railing as the air rippled around her, pressure vibrating through her bones.
"What the—?!"
Her eyes widened, before they narrowed as she reached into her pocket, fingers brushing the small green pill she always kept for emergencies.
Her stomach twisted.
"...Ugh. I hate this part."
She popped the Gikon into her mouth before she could overthink it.
Her body lurched—
a familiar, uncomfortable pull—
and she stepped cleanly out of herself as her artificial body blinked awake on the pavement.
Kon stretched in her form, flexing dramatically.
"Oh-ho! Back in action! This handsome body of mine—"
"Kon," she warned.
He froze.
"...I'll be good."
"Stay put," Karin said, already turning. "If something happens to my body, I'll turn you into confetti."
Kon saluted her so fast he nearly dislocated her shoulder.
"YES MA'AM!"
Karin didn't wait.
She flash-stepped.
The world blurred into streaks of gray and white as the reiatsu spike pulled her toward the industrial district.
Her heart pounded harder the closer she got.
A warehouse.
Smoke.
Warped metal.
Power leaking into the cold air like steam from a cracked boiler.
Karin landed on a rooftop, panting lightly as she scanned the scene.
"...Great. Just great."
As she felt two different spiritual pressures.
One monstrous — unmistakably Hollow, thick and raw like burning tar.
One faint — slippery, unfamiliar, and irritatingly hard to get a proper read on.
And Karin cursed herself internally.
If she had bothered to listen to that annoying blond shopkeeper's lectures...
If she had practiced sensing spiritual signatures like he told her to...
If she hadn't blown off lessons about "Reiryoku finesse" because Urahara explained things like a deranged science teacher—
"Stupid," she muttered under her breath. "I should've trained more."
She scanned the warehouse again, pulse loud in her ears.
This was the kind of chaos Ichigo always dove headfirst into.
And for a split second—
For one nauseating heartbeat—
Karin's stomach dropped.
What if he was here?
What if he'd been drawn to the fight in his weakened state?
What if he got hurt again—
or worse—
Her throat tightened.
"Dammit, Ichigo... don't you dare—"
"Karin-san!"
The voice cut through the tension cleanly, warm and bright like sunshine on winter glass.
Karin turned.
And exhaled in relief.
"Karin-san!" Orihime gasped, both hands flying to her chest as if physically relieved to see her intact. "You're not flattened, or sliced, or hollow-chomped, or—"
She paused, thinking.
"...or squished by heavy industrial debris! That one happens more often than you'd think."
She brightened immediately, despite the wrecked warehouse below them.
"I'm so, so glad you're okay!"
Karin blinked at her, unsure how to respond to half of that. Orihime's words came like a flood—bright, frantic, and sincere at the same time.
Still... Orihime being here was good.
If Ichigo was in this mess—if he was hurt—Orihime could put him back together before the thought of dying even finished forming.
Before she could answer, a heavy thud landed a few feet behind them—solid, quiet, as if the rooftop itself simply grew another wall of muscle.
Karin turned slightly.
"Chad," she said.
Sado Yasutora stood there, tall and unmoving, shoulders broad beneath his jacket. He didn't speak—he almost never did—but he gave Karin a single, steady nod. Not dramatic, not forced. Just recognition... and readiness.
Orihime lit up instantly.
"Chad-kun!" she chirped, waving both hands. "You made it! I was worried you were still three buildings behind because your steps were shaking the ventilation ducts! Oh! Not in a bad way! In a very strong, heroic way!"
Chad blinked once.
Orihime beamed harder.
Karin exhaled through her nose.
Chad stepped beside them, gaze sweeping the shattered warehouse district below—metal peeled open like a cracked egg, scorch marks smeared across the asphalt, and the thick residue of Hollow blood evaporating in the cold air. His expression darkened just barely, jaw flexing like he already anticipated needing his right arm.
Karin could tell he felt it too.
That lingering pressure.
Like something powerful had been here.
Bleeding into the air.
Then gone.
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could voice it, a sharp voice cut through the air like an arrow.
Before she could answer, a heavy thud landed a few feet behind them—solid, quiet, as if the rooftop itself simply grew another wall of muscle.
Karin turned slightly.
"Sado-san," she said.
Sado Yasutora stood there, tall and unmoving, shoulders broad beneath his jacket. He didn't speak—he almost never did—but he gave Karin a single, steady nod. Not dramatic, not forced. Just recognition... and readiness.
Orihime lit up instantly.
"Chad-kun!" she chirped, waving both hands. "You made it! I was worried you were still three buildings behind because your steps were shaking the ventilation ducts! Oh! Not in a bad way! In a very strong, heroic way!"
Chad blinked once.
Orihime beamed harder.
Karin exhaled through her nose.
Chad stepped beside them, gaze sweeping the shattered warehouse district below—metal peeled open like a cracked egg, scorch marks smeared across the asphalt, and the thick residue of Hollow blood evaporating in the cold air. His expression darkened just barely, jaw flexing like he already anticipated needing his right arm.
Karin could tell he felt it too.
That lingering pressure.
Like something powerful had been here.
Bleeding into the air.
Then gone.
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could voice it, a sharp voice cut through the air like an arrow.
Karin didn't have to turn to know who it was.
That tone could slice glass.
Uryū Ishida landed lightly on the rooftop, barely more than the whisper of fabric against concrete. His coat settled around him in a clean, practiced motion. He surveyed the ruined warehouse district with clinical severity—glass glinting behind narrowed eyes.
Orihime brightened instantly.
"Uryū-kun! I'm glad you're here. You always show up exactly when we need you—like a very stylish alarm clock!"
Uryū stared at her.
One beat.
Two.
She was being... very Orihime today.
Too loud.
Too cheerful.
Too fast.
Too bright.
He pushed his glasses up again.
"...I refuse to acknowledge that analogy."
Orihime laughed—too quickly.
And he realized emediatly why, because now that he was still—
He felt it clearly.
That reiatsu.
Wrong.
Warped.
Cold at the edges like steel dipped in tar.
Not here anymore, but the echo clung to the shredded metal below like smoke.
And something inside his chest twisted.
He had felt this before.
In Hueco Mundo—
the night Ichigo exploded with power, and stood up again as something monstrous.
And later...
In Hell.
That same violent, overwhelming presence—
a Hollow so strong it drowned out the Shinigami aspect of him entirely.
His breath dipped sharply.
He turned his head instead, studying Orihime's posture.
She was still smiling.
Still bright.
Still open.
But her fingers—
her fingers were clenched white-knuckled in front of her skirt.
And her shoulders—
Her shoulders were shaking.
Barely.
So small no normal person would notice.
But Uryū noticed.
He saw everything.
"...Inoue," he said calmly, "you're trembling."
Orihime froze.
Orihime's smile faltered—just a little crack, just a tiny fracture—
"I'm not tremb—"
"Inoue," Uryū interrupted, voice dropping.
Precise.
Sharp.
Worried.
"Don't. Not with me. I know you feel it as well."
Orihime froze.
The smile drained from her face as if someone had wiped the color out of her eyes.
Silence settled over the rooftop.
Karin frowned, looking between the two of them.
"...What are you talking about?" she asked. "You both keep acting weird. What's going on?"
Chad shifted his weight, brow furrowed.
He wasn't one to ask questions, but the confusion was clear in the way he looked at them—quiet, concerned, waiting.
Uryū inhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself before speaking.
"You didn't recognize it?" he asked, turning his gaze toward the ruined warehouse district.
Karin stiffened. "Recognize what?"
Uryū pushed his glasses up, the light catching on the lenses.
"That reiatsu," he said. "The one we all felt a moment ago."
Chad nodded once. "It felt... familiar. But wrong."
"Exactly," Uryū replied. "Familiar—but warped."
He looked at Orihime again.
Her eyes had dropped to her hands, trembling fingers curled tight against her skirt.
He exhaled.
"It was Ichigo's," he said quietly.
Karin's breath caught. "I–Ichigo's? But he—he doesn't have any powers anymore. And that—whatever that was—didn't feel like him."
"It wasn't his Shinigami reiatsu," Uryū said.
His voice sharpened, precise as a scalpel.
"That was his Hollow."
Karin went pale.
Chad's right arm twitched—instinctive, defensive.
Orihime closed her eyes, jaw trembling.
"It felt just like... back then," she whispered. "When he... changed."
Uryū nodded.
"That's why Inoue is trembling," he said quietly. "That Hollow pressure is something none of us forgot."
Karin swallowed hard, voice barely above a breath.
"...If that was Ichigo's Hollow... then... does that mean Ichigo became a—"
She never finished.
A sharp ripple tore through the air above them—clean, practiced, and unmistakably Shinigami.
Karin's head snapped up just in time to see a figure drop from the sky, landing on the rooftop with the lightness of falling snow.
White lieutenant's badge on her arm.
Freshly tied.
Proud.
New.
Rukia Kuchiki straightened, her breath forming faint clouds in the cold morning air.
"Everyone, stay where you are."
Her voice carried authority now—firm, polished, trained.
Not the Rukia Karin remembered from years ago.
This was a lieutenant.
Uryū's eyes flicked to the insignia.
He adjusted his glasses.
"Lieutenant Kuchiki," he said evenly.
Rukia's gaze cut to him, acknowledging the formality with the smallest dip of her chin.
Before Karin could react, two more silhouettes flashed into view—then three, then four.
Black cloaks.
Zanpakutō at the ready.
Patrol-grade Shinigami sweeping in to assess the wreckage below.
Karin tensed.
Orihime's hands shot to her mouth.
Chad shifted closer to them protectively.
Rukia didn't look at the others yet.
Her attention was on the ruined warehouse district—the twisted metal, the melted concrete, the lingering smoke.
"What happened here?" she demanded, voice sharp and controlled.
Her eyes swept the rooftop, then locked onto Uryū.
"You felt it," she said. "All of you. Something was here. Something powerful."
Uryū didn't flinch.
"Yes," he replied. "We did."
Rukia stepped closer, authority radiating off her like a cold wind.
"Tell me exactly what you sensed."
Her tone wasn't hostile—but there was urgency in her eyes.
Fear hiding beneath discipline.
And for a moment, Uryū hesitated.
Because saying it out loud made it real.
Then—
He exhaled and spoke:
"...It was Ichigo's reiatsu."
Rukia froze.
"But not his Shinigami power," Uryū continued. "Not anything sanctioned. Not anything stable."
He looked her dead in the eyes.
"It was his Hollow."
Rukia's breath hitched—only for a second, but enough for Uryū to notice.
Behind her, the Shinigami patrol stiffened, murmurs rising, confusion rippling like a shockwave.
Rukia silenced them with a raised hand.
Then she turned back, voice low but steady.
"Are you certain?"
Chad nodded once.
Orihime's trembling hands pressed to her chest.
Karin whispered, "It felt... wrong."
Uryū answered last—quiet and absolute.
"Yes. I'm certain."
Rukia's expression hardened—fear, guilt, and determination tangling across her face.
"...Ichigo," she whispered to herself, barely audible.
Then—
—the air tore open.
A violent ripple pulsed through the sky, thick enough that even Karin stumbled.
Shinigami jerked their heads upward in alarm.
Chad braced his feet.
Orihime gasped.
Uryū's eyes flashed wide.
"No—already?"
It wasn't one signature.
It wasn't even two.
It was many.
As the spiritual pressure from the ruined district clashed with the clustered reiatsu of the rooftop—
as the residue of that monstrous Hollow and the unknown attacker still stained the air—
something hungry answered.
RRRRIPPPPP—
A jagged black line split open the sky above them.
Rukia's eyes widened in pure dread.
"Garganta—!"
A second tore open beside it.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
The sky above Karakura Town fractured like black glass—
cracks opening into the void, one after another.
Hollow shrieks poured through the rifts.
Dozens.
No—more.
Rukia snapped into command instantly.
"Everyone—MOVE!" she shouted, voice sharp enough to slice steel.
"Form up! Prepare for battle! Now!"
Her zanpakutō was already in her hand.
The Shinigami patrol scrambled into position, fear turning into trained reflex.
Uryū drew an arrow of pure blue reishi, eyes narrowing.
Chad's right arm fully transformed with a thunderous hum.
Orihime pressed her hands together, trembling but ready.
Karin stood frozen, breath hitching—
"Karin!" Rukia barked. "Stay behind us! Do NOT break formation!"
Karin jolted, nodding rapidly, chest tight.
Hollows began to fall through the open Gargantas—
mask after mask, claw after claw—
raging, shrieking, drawn by the scent of that monstrous reiatsu like sharks to blood.
Rukia cursed under her breath—raw, frustrated, fearful.
"Damn it—this many?! Is it because of the Reiatsu surounding us ?! "
Rukia's grip tightened.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
"Everyone!" she shouted, stepping forward, blade raised high.
"Protect the civilians! Protect each other! Do NOT let them spread into the town—!"
A Hollow lunged—
—and a flash of blue obliterated its head.
A storm of monsters poured from the sky.
...
December 28th, 2003 — 6:00 PM
Soul Society — First Division BarracksCaptain's Assembly Hall
The great doors shut behind the last captain with a heavy echo that rolled through the chamber like distant thunder.
The air was thick with tension—so thick it felt like trying to breathe through wet cloth. Spiritual pressure layered over spiritual pressure, restrained but sharp enough to cut.
A circular table dominated the center of the room.
Torches flickered against aged wood and polished steel.
And standing at the head—
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, Captain-Commander, eyes closed, fingers pressed over his cane.
When he finally opened them—
they were fire.
"Report," he commanded.
Silence broke at once.
Head Captain's Right:
Shunsui Kyōraku stepped forward first, hat tilted low, expression darker than his usual lazy ease.
" Couple hours ago, Karakura Town experienced a surge of Hollow activity..." he began, voice uncharacteristically grim. "Current estimates—"
He glanced down at the notes in his hand.
"—put the number of manifested Hollows at over one hundred and thirty-two. In less than five minutes."
Murmurs erupted. Even captains who prided themselves on composure shifted uneasily.
Sui-Feng clicked her tongue.
"That concentration should be impossible. Karakura Town has defensive wards."
Her glare sharpened.
"...Which apparently failed."
Mayuri. Snorted. Loudly.
"Failed?" he hissed, tilting his head with a grotesque crack. "Oh no, little bee, they did not 'fail.' Something overridden them. Something far more interesting than failure."
A vein ticked in Sui-Feng's forehead.
Jūshirō Ukitake spoke next, voice calm but strained
"Vice-Captain Kuchiki felt a spiritual pressure on site before the Hollows arrived. Something... familiar."
Eyes shifted toward him.
"...Hollow reiatsu," Ukitake continued. "But not from any ordinary Hollow."
Whispers rippled across the chamber.
Yamamoto's eyelids lowered a fraction.
"Explain."
Ukitake exchanged a glance with Shunsui.
"It matched traces recorded from Kurosaki Ichigo during his transformation in the Winter War."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Even Kenpachi stopped smirking.
Kyoraku exphaled.
"We don't know if it was him," he said quietly. "But the signature was identical."
"You mean his inner Hollow," Sui-Feng added. "But Kurosaki Ichigo no longer has powers."
Byakuya kuchiki finally spoke.
His voice was cold, precise, cutting through the air like a blade.
"...Has Vice-Captain Kuchiki confirmed contact?"
Shunsui shook his head.
"She was engaged in battle when the report came through. The number of Hollows is still rising."
Zaraki Kenpachi cracked his knuckles.
"So we get to kill some hollows," he grinned. "Good. It's been boring."
Yamamoto's staff struck the ground—BOOM—echo tearing through the hall.
"Enough."
Silence slammed down like a hammer.
Captain-Commander Yamamoto lifted his head.
"The enemy source. Describe it."
Shunsui inhaled.
"...Two unidentified reiatsu signatures were detected moments before the Hollow surge."
"Two?" Ukitake repeated.
Shunsui nodded grimly.
"One was Hollow in nature.
The other—"
He hesitated, for the first time in decades.
"—was... Kūgo Ginsho. "
The reaction hit instantly.
Several captains stiffened.
A ripple of disbelief cut across the room.
Even Byakuya's eyes widened—barely, but enough to betray shock.
Sui-Feng's voice was the first to break the silence:
"That woman?" she snapped, jaw tight. "The traitor Substitute Shinigami? We confirmed her death years ago."
Mayuri let out a low, delighted laugh, head tilting unnaturally, as he gained a certain gleam in his mad-eyes
"Ohh, but death is such a fragile concept," he purred. "And Ginshō was always annoyingly resilient."
Jūshirō's hand tightened at his side.
"Kūgo Ginshō vanished after her rebellion," he said quietly. "We found no remains, no trace of activity, no confirmed sightings. Her disappearance was... absolute."
Shunsui nodded grimly.
"And yet her reiatsu appeared tonight. Clear as daylight."
Byakuya's voice sliced sharply into the noise.
Byakuya's voice sliced sharply into the noise.
"Kūgo Ginshō was a Substitute Shinigami with access to our techniques. If she is alive... her knowledge poses a direct threat to Soul Society."
Sui-Feng's glare hardened.
"And her betrayal still stains the program. We should have eliminated her sooner."
A slow, serpentine laugh curled from the shadows of the table.
Mayuri tilted his head, gold eyes narrowing with a grotesquely fascinated glint.
"My, my... how predictable," he purred.
"All this righteous indignation, and not a shred of strategic foresight among you..."
Sui-Feng's jaw locked.
"Explain yourself, Kurotsuchi."
Mayuri spread his hands, sleeves swaying like decayed wings.
"Oh, I merely wish to question your... efficiency," he said with a mocking bow.
"You speak of 'eliminating' Ginshō as if discarding a broken blade."
His grin widened—sharp, off-balance, hungry.
"But a tool that breaks," he continued softly, "can often be reforged into something far more... interesting."
Unohana's eyes, calm but sharp, glided toward him.
"You speak as though you value her alive."
"Of course I do," Mayuri hissed. "She was a Substitute Shinigami—unique by design. A failure, yes... but failures teach more than successes ever will."
His fingers twitched—just barely—like phantom memory through the nerves.
Only he knew why Ginshō's case was so very personal.
Byakuya's voice cut through again—it was getting colder.
"Your fixation is unbecoming, Captain Kurotsuchi."
Mayuri's smile twitched.
"Oh? Is curiosity a crime now? Or perhaps you fear what she knows?"
Shunsui stepped in, raising a calming palm.
"Mayuri... this isn't about curiosity."
"No," Mayuri whispered. "It's about opportunity."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming like polished disease.
A sharp, unsettling chuckle slipped out.
"If anything, Soul Society stands to benefit from bringing her in alive."
Sui-Feng scoffed.
"Alive? She may be orchestrating this entire Hollow incursion."
"Or responding to it," Mayuri countered instantly.
"Do not confuse correlation with causation, little bee."
A dangerous tension spiked in the room.
Yamamoto's cane slammed downward—BOOM—silencing everything at once.
Enough.
His gaze swept across all thirteen captains like the blade of a drawn zanpakutō.
"Speculation will not protect the Human World."
He turned to Mayuri, voice low and final.
"Your... interest in Ginshō will be addressed later."
"Your... interest in Ginshō will be addressed later," Yamamoto said, his voice a low, final growl.
Mayuri bowed, lips twitching behind restraint.
The Captain-Commander straightened, cane pressing once against the floor.
"Now," he commanded, tone shifting from judgment to war.
"We move."
His eyes swept the room—hard, unyielding.
"Sui-Feng."
She snapped to attention immediately.
"Yes, Head Captain."
"You and the Second Division will track down Kūgo Ginshō," he declared.
"Alive or dead—bring her in. She may hold the key to this disturbance."
Sui-Feng's expression hardened, but she nodded.
"As you command."
A murmur surged through the seated captains, before it was interupted by the commands of the strongest shinigami.
"Zaraki Kenpachi."
Kenpachi straightened, grin widening in anticipation.
"You and the Eleventh Division will prepare for immediate deployment to Karakura Town."
Kenpachi let out a low chuckle.
"'Bout damn time."
"But," Yamamoto said sharply, "you will not advance alone."
Kenpachi's grin twitched with irritation.
"Captain Hirako."
Shinji slid one hand from his pocket and stepped forward lazily, shoulders loose, mouth curved in an easy smirk.
But his eyes—sharp, golden, deceptively bright—were already measuring the situation more seriously than his body language implied.
"Yo."
Yamamoto's gaze locked onto him, his eyebrow twitched from how he responded
"The Fifth Division will accompany Zaraki."
Shinji's smirk tilted higher at the corner.
"Oh? Must be my charm."
A few captains exhaled sharply.
Unohana hid a smile.
Sui-Feng looked ready to throttle him.
But Yamamoto did not humor him.
His next words dropped like iron.
"You are being deployed because you lived in Karakura Town for almost a century.
You know its layout, its spiritual fault lines, and the points where Hollows converge.
Your expertise with the terrain is unmatched."
Shinji's amusement dimmed—not gone, just pushed aside—his golden eyes narrowing.
"...So you need a guide."
"We need precision," Yamamoto corrected.
"And," he added sharply, "you are forbidden from using Hollow abilities during this mission."
Shinji's smirk froze.
The room went absolutely silent.
"Any release of Hollow-tainted reiatsu will attract higher-class Hollows.
It will escalate the situation beyond containment."
Shinji clicked his tongue and looked away.
"Tch... I ain't stupid," he muttered. "Don't gotta remind me."
Shinji exhaled, long and slow.
"Alright. Fifth Division'll move out with the brute squad."
His eyes slid toward Kenpachi.
"Try not to break the whole town before we even get there, yeah?"
Kenpachi grinned wide.
"No promises."
As Shinji stood there—half-listening to the shifting of captains around him—his mind drifted.
Ichigo.
The kid was always trouble.
Even when Shinji first met him, back when he tried to drown Ichigo in Hollowfication training, even when he pushed him too far, even when he used him—
Tch.
He pressed his tongue against a molar and looked away from the assembly.
Used.
He hated that word.
But... he had.
He really had.
They needed Aizen out.
They needed a wildcard.
And Ichigo—stupid, stubborn, reckless Ichigo—was the perfect one.
And then the kid thanked him.
Trusted him.
Believed him.
That part still stuck in Shinji's throat sometimes.
He rubbed his scalp with an irritated sigh.
I barely knew him a day or two. Maybe three?
Didn't share much except some threats, some training, and a whole lotta yelling...
He grimaced.
...and I go and say we're family.
He almost winced.
That had been... stupid.
Too sentimental.
Too fast.
Tellin' a kid I'm practically a stranger to that he's part of the family... tch. If that ain't messed up, I dunno what is.
He wasn't close to Ichigo.
Not really.
And yet—
Why was the idea of Ichigo's Hollow reawakening making his stomach twist?
Why did the thought of facing the kid again feel so...
heavy?
Maybe because Ichigo saved them.
Maybe because Ichigo could be the only one to understand them.
And they him ?
Shinji clicked his tongue again, annoyed at himself.
I guess... I owe him a look. Just to check in. Just once.
Not because he cared.
No, never that.
Just...
responsibility.
Debt.
Whatever.
He rolled his shoulders back, slipping his lazy smirk on like a mask, burying the weight behind his eyelids.
Guess I'll see the idiot again soon.
His thoughts drifted again—
this time to the others.
Speakin' of idiots... guess I'll get to see the whole gang too.
A small, reluctant warmth tugged at his chest.
It would be good to see them.
Even if he'd never say it out loud.
Even if they'd punch him for it.
Should be fun...
He winced internally.
...aside from Hiyori.
He could practically hear her already:
"SHINJIIII, YOU BALD-FACED BASTAAAARD!"
He resisted the urge to rub his temples.
Yeah. Definitely not lookin' forward to that.
But still—
seeing them again after so long...
A rare, genuine smile almost—almost—tugged at his mouth.
It'll be good.
Shinji's smile faded the moment the murmuring around the hall rose again.
Whispers from captains.
Concerns from vice-captains stationed behind them.
Unease thick enough to taste.
Kensei crossed his arms.
Rose tilted his head thoughtfully.
Hitsugaya's brow furrowed, icy breath escaping between tutting teeth.
Finally, one voice broke the tension first—
Hitsugaya.
"Head Captain... do we know if the Hollow surge is still intensifying?
Or if the source is stationary?"
Yamamoto didn't turn.
He didn't need to.
"It is unknown."
Hitsugaya went silent immediately — jaw tightening.
Another voice stepped in.
Komamura.
"If the numbers escalate further, should we begin preparing the Senkaimon gates now?"
Yamamoto's eyes did not leave the center of the table.
"You will all prepare," he declared, voice heavy and absolute.
"But none will move until the Dangai stabilizes.
Acting prematurely will only cost lives."
A third voice—
calm, gentle, but cutting.
Unohana.
"Head Captain... are we expecting casualties from the Human World?
If so, the Fourth Division will require advance notice to deploy healing teams—"
Yamamoto lifted a hand, quieting the entire room instantly.
"You will prepare," he repeated.
"To deploy. To defend. To fight.
The exact situation remains uncertain."
His gaze swept across the assembled captains—
each one a pillar of the Gotei 13.
Each one visibly tense.
"And uncertainty," he finished, "is the birthplace of disaster."
Mayuri tapped his fingers against his armrest, eyes gleaming with a twisted excitement.
"So we are blind," he hissed, "and waiting in the dark. Delightful."
"Silence, Kurotsuchi," Byakuya snapped.
"You are not helping."
Mayuri grinned but obeyed.
Shunsui tipped his hat lower, sighing.
"Well... sounds like we should treat this like a worst-case scenario."
"Correct," Yamamoto said.
"Prepare for the possibility that the disturbance will spread beyond Karakura Town.
Prepare for high-level Hollow interference.
Prepare for the reappearance of the Substitute Shinigami, Kūgo Ginshō."
A sharp intake of breath swept the hall—
small, subtle, but unmistakable.
A ripple of shock that no captain dared voice aloud.
Yamamoto's cane struck the floor—
BOOM—
a final, absolute judgment cast upon the room.
"And prepare," he finished, voice like rolling fire,
"for the possibility that Kurosaki Ichigo may become a threat."
The silence that followed was not mere quiet.
It was funeral silence.
Dead, heavy, suffocating.
Shinji's hand froze halfway into his pocket.
Kensei's jaw tightened like stone about to crack.
Rose's elegant posture straightened, golden eyes sharpening into something far colder.
The Vizards didn't just understand the implication—
They felt it.
They had seen Ichigo hollowfy.
They had seen him fall apart.
They had seen him rise again.
And they had seen what he could become
when pushed past his limits.
To call Ichigo a potential threat...
That wasn't paranoia.
It was preparation for a nightmare.
Yamamoto's gaze swept the room like a pillar of flame, burning through any doubt or hesitation.
"All divisions," he commanded, each word vibrating through the pillars of the hall,
"prepare yourselves.
Until my next order, you will remain on standby.
At any moment, you may be called to war."
Reiatsu rose around the room—
Eight different storms barely held in check.
Fear. Resolve. Duty.
Old loyalties resurfacing like ghosts.
Together, every captain bowed.
The sound was like steel sliding into its sheath.
The world was about to move—
and Soul Society was preparing to move with it.
Yamamoto turned his back to the assembly; the signal that the meeting was over.
One by one, the captains straightened—
not speaking, not meeting each other's eyes, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.
Shinji Hikaro
He lingered a moment longer than the others.
Ichigo... a threat?
The words stabbed deeper than he expected.
If Ichigo's Hollow really woke up again...
this ain't gonna be a simple rescue.
Kensei Muguruma
His arms folded tight as iron plates.
He wasn't one for emotional reflection—
but even he felt the knot in his gut.
Ichigo had saved the Vizards' lives, their freedom, their future.
If the kid was losing control again...
Kensei scowled.
We aren't lettin' him fall this time.
Rōjūrō Otoribashi
Rose pressed a hand lightly to his chin.
"Kurosaki... becoming a threat..."
his voice was soft, contemplative.
"Some melodies," he murmured to himself,
"are not meant to be replayed."
As they stood there—
A distant rumble reverberated through the Seireitei halls.
A pulse.
A tremor.
The Dangai alarms began to flare to life.
Glowing lines of kido raced along the walls, signal lamps flickering crimson.
An operator's voice echoed through the barracks:
"Alert! Dimensional instability detected!
Karakura Town barrier under strain—Hollow migration increasing!"
The captains' heads snapped toward the doors.
Shinji's smirk evaporated, replaced by the hard, sharp focus of a man who'd lived through too many wars to underestimate the tone of those alarms.
As Shinji straightened, the air behind him detonated with spiritual pressure.
predatory—
like a creature finally smelling something worth hunting.
Kenpachi.
Shinji didn't need to turn to know it was him.
That reiatsu was unmistakable:
A mountain of killing intent wrapped in the skin of a man.
But then—
From the corner of his eye, Shinji saw it.
Kenpachi's tongue dragging slowly across his lips,
a grin splitting wider,
one eye gleaming with the primal joy of a beast finally smelling prey.
And the Eleventh Division's captain whispered
"...Kurosaki Ichigo."
Kenpachi wasn't excited about the Hollows.
He wasn't excited about the dimensional instability.
He wasn't excited about the mission.
He was excited about the possibility.
About Ichigo.
About fighting Ichigo.
About Ichigo becoming something worth swinging his sword at again.
And Shinji felt his stomach drop.
Ichigo ain't a target...
but Kenpachi ain't the type to care about details.
He forced out a breath through his nose.
"Tch... this is gonna be a damn mess."
...
December 28th, 2003 — 6:42 PM
Soul Society — 12th Division Research & Development Bureau Sublevel 7: Restricted Laboratory
Deep beneath the Seireitei, past reinforced kido seals, toxin locks, and security wards layered thicker than fortress walls, the 12th Division Research Bureau shook with the distant rumble of alarms.
The moment Mayuri stepped into his private lab—
the moment the door sealed behind him—
the laughter finally tore free.
Not the muted chuckles he barely choked down in the captain meeting.
Not the stiff, polite smiles he wore like a mask.
No.
This was real.
Wild.
Hysterical.
Unhinged.
"KEHEHE—HFFHFF—FUFUFUFUFU—!!"
He stumbled into a table, fingers crushing metal like paper.
The laughter drained into a ragged inhale.
And then—
A whipcrack:
"N E M U!"
A silent ripple through the air—
and she materialized, kneeling instantly.
Her voice was soft.
Empty.
Perfect.
"Master."
Mayuri's trembling subsided just enough for him to sneer.
"Stand."
She obeyed with machine-like precision.
Mayuri began circling her—
slow, predatory, each step radiating a mixture of possessive pride and venom.
"My sweet Nemu," he crooned,
"do you have even a fraction of comprehension...
how much effort it took me not to erupt into euphoria during that miserable gathering of incompetents?"
Nemu kept her gaze lowered.
Still.
Listening.
Her silence pleased him, and so he continued—
Voice shaking with restrained mania.
"The urge—
the NEED—
To go to Karakura, to FIND THEM, to CLAIM THEM! "
A manic grin twisted across his painted face.
"And now..."
He leaned so close she could smell the chemicals on his breath.
"FUFUFUFUFUHAAAH—!"
When it finally dwindled into raspy snickers, he lifted Nemu's chin between two thin fingers.
"Listen closely, Nemu.
Because what I am about to say... is the culmination of DECADES."
Her eyes met his.
Emotionless.
But listening.
"Kūgo Ginshō is alive."
Nemu blinked.
Once.
He smiled wider at that tiny reaction.
"My runaway experiment... the FIRST crack in the boundary... the first subject whose SHINIGAMI SOUL began corroding into Hollow..."
His voice softened with sick pride.
"...oh, how she blossomed."
He drifted into motion, pacing with jittering steps, hands clasped behind his back like an excited professor unveiling a masterpiece—or a madman recalling a dream he never wanted to wake from.
He spoke to Nemu.
Or perhaps he spoke to himself.
"Subject Ginshō was my work, Nemu," he said, tone trembling with grotesque affection.
"A miracle I pried from the jaws of oblivion.
A living contradiction.
A soul caught between evolution and decay—
a testament that Shinigami and Hollow are not enemies of nature..."
His grin widened.
"...but pieces of the same puzzle begging to be arranged."
His voice dropped.
Thick.
Poisonous.
"And then—"
he spat the word like a curse,
"—Aizen stole her."
Nemu's eyes fell.
She had been told fragments.
Hints.
Whispers of the wound beneath his painted skin.
But never like this—
never with his voice cracking and reforming in the same breath.
"Aizen stole my notes," Mayuri continued, pacing faster now.
"Stole my hypotheses.
Stole my observations—
MY DATA—
results from Ginshō's early-stage hollowfication—"
His smile vanished.
Evaporated.
His voice became winter.
"—and then she had me thrown into the Maggots' Nest like refuse."
He turned sharply, robes snapping behind him, face contorting into something almost unrecognizable beneath the makeup.
"She built her Vizards from my stolen foundation."
His lips peeled back, revealing teeth gritted so tightly the sound was almost a hiss.
"My work..."
A step closer.
"My brilliance..."
Another step.
"My research..."
His voice dipped to a whisper—
quiet, trembling, on the edge of breaking:
"All of it... used by that treacherous woman to forge Hollow-Shinigami hybrids she parades as her own design."
A laugh escaped him—
low and unsteady, the sound of a man trying to glue himself together with madness.
"She couldn't recreate Ginshō's natural evolution—
so she copied my shortcuts.
My formulas.
My insight."
He pressed a hand to his chest.
"She built her army...
on the bones of my genius."
He dragged his hand slowly down his chest, fingers trembling, as if calming a heartbeat that threatened to burst through his ribs.
"But now..."
His voice cracked—high, gleeful, unhinged.
"...now the universe has repaid me."
He spun sharply, kimono flaring like a grotesque wing.
"Nemu."
She lifted her head.
"Yes, Master."
His grin—too wide, too sharp—returned with savage glee.
"Ginshō is alive.
And that means my research—my true research—has not been lost."
His eyes shimmered with feverish light.
"Only stolen.
Only misplaced.
Only waiting... for its rightful owner to reclaim it."
Nemu said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Mayuri leaned toward her, eyes glinting like poisoned gold.
"And that," he whispered, "is only the first revelation."
He stepped back and inhaled deeply, like a man savoring a vintage wine.
"Because Ginshō's return is not the only anomaly detected in Karakura Town."
His fingers twitched.
Then flexed.
Then shook.
"Nemu..."
His voice softened, delicate, almost reverent.
"Another reiatsu has surfaced."
One more step.
Another tremble.
Her posture stiffened in anticipation.
Mayuri's eyes rolled upward, smile trembling with a fanatic's awe.
"Kurosaki Ichigo."
He let go abruptly—letting her head drop—and paced again, faster, more erratic, like a marionette controlled by invisible strings.
"Kurosaki Ichigo..."
He savored the name like a forbidden delicacy.
"The impossible child, Shinigami, Quincy, Hollow, or Human."
"A being who should NOT exist in ANY system.
A contradiction wearing flesh."
He giggled—
soft, dangerous.
"A child whose spiritual composition defies every rule, every boundary, every LAW of soul-structure."
He tilted his head back, eyes rolling upward.
"The anomaly I could never replicate...
because no one created him."
A shiver rattled down his spine.
"He is a miracle born from chaos itself.
An organism that breaks classification.
A specimen who corrupts taxonomy by simply existing."
He inhaled sharply, a tremor twisting his voice.
"Kurosaki Ichigo...
He turned, face painted with manic reverence.
"I despise perfection.
Because it cannot exist.
It is mathematically absurd.
Psychologically delusional.
Biologically impossible."
His lips quivered, splitting into an ecstatic grin.
"But Kurosaki Ichigo..."
He shuddered.
"He is the one contradiction I cannot dismiss.
The one error in the universe's code that feels designed to mock me... personally."
His laugh returned—
not loud this time, but quiet, brittle, trembling like glass about to shatter.
He let out a choking, ecstatic gasp.
"...it's enough to make even me lose control."
He straightened suddenly, lifting his arms like a mad prophet.
"GINSHŌ—my stolen foundation—
and KUROSAKI—my unattainable perfection—
together..."
He trembled.
"...the universe has delivered BOTH anomalies to my doorstep."
He snapped his gaze to Nemu.
"Find them."
...
??? — ???
Muken.
Nothing.
A place without sound.
Without light.
Without weight.
Without even the comfort of darkness.
Muken.
Aizen Sōsuke sat bound to the obsidian chair, head tilted slightly downward, eyelids sealed under layers of kido, senses cut off one by one until even the notion of being was theoretical.
Here, no footsteps echoed.
No reiatsu could be felt.
Time itself refused to move.
She counted.
Every heartbeat.
Every pulse of blood.
Every infinitesimal vibration inside the prison that should not allow sensation.
sixty-eight million, eighty-three thousand, two hundred.
Aizen inhaled nothing.
"...So. It has happened."
A faint curve touched her lips — not joy, not surprise, but the ghost of an old amusement she no longer bothered to fully summon.
She had no senses here.
No sight.
No sound.
No weight.
No spiritual flow.
Muken permitted nothing.
A prison without space.
Without edges.
Without change.
And yet—
She knew.
Not through perception.
Not through instinct.
Through inevitability.
As one might "know" that a seed buried in winter will still reach for the sun in spring.
Aizen's head tilted a fraction — a movement that implied more thought than effort.
A hollow without name.
A hollow with one purpose:
Not to kill.
Not to feed.
Not even to evolve.
"But to sever," she breathed, lips curling faintly,
"that which Shinigami rely upon most."
Her voice did not travel.
It simply existed, refusing to be erased.
"A creature designed to tear Zanpakutō spirits from their hosts... by force."
A pause.
A memory — not sensory, but conceptual — brushed her thoughts.
Muramasa.
The broken blade-spirit who had once rebelled against his own existence.
A being who understood, better than any Shinigami, the fragility of the bond between soul and sword.
"He was so very useful," Aizen whispered.
Not fond.
Not nostalgic.
Amused.
"I promised him stability. Purpose."
Her smile widened.
"He was too desperate to question the cost."
And with that desperation, she built something:
A hollow engineered to slip beneath a Shinigami's defenses.
To pry apart the seams of identity.
To rip the spirit free from its wielder.
"The perfect scalpel."
Aizen exhaled lightly.
"To cut away weakness."
Silence.
Stillness.
Then—
"...and to carve open the old man's throat."
The smile remained, serene as moonlight.
"Yes," she whispered to herself.
"It was created for Yamamoto Genryūsai."
To cripple him.
To strip away Ryūjin Jakka.
To expose the man to the world without his flame.
"But the prototype was flawed," she sighed, as though disappointed in a child.
"Too weak.
Too... incomplete."
Aizen's fingers flexed minutely against her restraints.
"So I abandoned it."
Like any failed experiment.
Like any tool that did not serve purpose.
The faintest hum of memory passed through her thoughts — not felt, but known.
"Until Ichigo Kurosaki appeared."
Her smile vanished.
Not anger.
Disappointment.
Cold, clean, razor-sharp.
"What a mess his 'Zanpakutō' turned out to be."
Aizen's sealed eyes lowered slightly, as if regarding the boy through a memory.
Aizen's lips curved in something that might charitably be called a smile, though there was nothing gentle in it.
"What a mess his 'Zanpakutō' turned out to be."
Her sealed eyelids lowered, not to see, but to remember — a concept, a blueprint, the shape of a lie that had wrapped itself around Ichigo's soul.
"A Quincy masquerading as a sword spirit," she murmured, each word gliding with soft contempt.
"A parasite of his bloodline disguised as enlightenment.
Limiting him.
Restraining him.
Clipping his wings."
Her voice thinned into something colder than steel.
"Zanpakutō are shackles, in the end.
A crutch.
A leash.
A beautifully crafted restraint wrapped in poetry."
Aizen tilted her head a degree — just enough to mimic a thoughtful lean.
"Seventy percent of a Shinigami's strength," she whispered, "confined within an external construct."
Her smile sharpened.
"A laughable system."
A soft scoff escaped her — a sound like glass tapping against glass.
"I shattered that illusion long ago."
K̶y̶ō̶k̶a̶ ̶S̶u̶i̶g̶e̶t̶s̶u̶ ̶
"Zanpakutō," she breathed, "are one of the greatest lies ever sold to the Shinigami."
Her voice grew smoother, quieter, almost pitying.
"And the Soul King's blacksmith believed himself clever."
Ōetsu Nimaiya.
The creator of every Zanpakutō.
A genius worshipped by fools.
Aizen's smile returned — too calm, too serene.
"The Sword God forged a cage," she said. "And called it identity."
A whisper of disdain slid into her tone.
"He convinced an entire race to bind their strength to a tool.
To externalize their power.
To split their souls — deliberately — into brittle pieces."
A pause.
"And they praised him for it."
The words dripped from her lips like venom wrapped in silk.
A laugh unfurled — soft, elegant, predatory.
"No higher demonstration of stagnation exists."
She lifted her chin by a fraction, as if looking down at a world she no longer cared to inhabit.
"Shinigami do not need Zanpakutō to grow."
A pause.
A soft hum of amusement rippled through her, smooth as still water disturbed by a fingertip.
"After all..." she mused, "isn't Ichigo Kurosaki and myself evidence enough?"
Her smile deepened, serene and merciless.
"I shattered my blade...
and surpassed the limits of this world."
Not pride.
Not boast.
Fact.
She had transcended the system the moment she let go of the very thing that system relied upon.
"And the boy," she continued, almost fondly, "the moment his restraints broke... stood beside me."
A breath — perfectly measured.
"Then above me."
The air in Muken did not move, yet the notion of movement coiled around her words.
"Mugetsu."
Her voice softened — strangely, impossibly.
As if she were recalling a work of art instead of a technique.
"The stripping away of ego," she whispered.
"The abandonment of form.
The sacrifice of identity for absolute force."
Aizen's head tilted very slightly, as though regarding an invisible sculpture.
"A technique that discards everything unnecessary... until only truth remains."
Ichigo Kurosaki letting go of his weakness.
Aizen tasted the thought like a rare sweetness breaking across her mind.
"...how refreshing."
Most beings crawled toward strength.
Ichigo had shed everything that held him down.
Not wisdom.
Not discipline.
Not training.
Instinct.
A purity only those standing at the edge of transcendence could grasp.
Her smile, faint and feline, returned.
"Even if the result was... inconvenient," she allowed, tone light, almost teasing.
His evolution had not unfolded along the axis she desired.
Not cleanly.
Not symmetrically.
But evolution was never polite.
Aizen shifted slightly in her restraints — not struggling, but reclining, as if Muken itself were her lounge.
"I wonder," she murmured, a quiet thrill hidden beneath her voice.
The hollow darkness of Muken could not swallow the curve of her smile.
"What will you become, Kurosaki Ichigo..."
A pause.
A faint, almost playful lilt.
"...after you survive this little war, of course."
...
To be continued !
Hello everyone again.
Hopefully the next chapter will be finished sooner, will probably emediatly start writting it tommorow...
And if i don't publish it in a week, then dont be afraid to ping me in my discord.
https://discord.gg/7SwQYNR9z3
And don't mind doing it, trust me, I won't lose anything if you do.