Sasaki crouched in front of the table like she was defusing a bomb.
The clubroom lights were dimmed again, curtains drawn tight, the air thick with the kind of manufactured tension only people trying to encounter the supernatural could create. The object sat in the center of the table atop several layers of paper talismans, twine, and hastily scribbled symbols that looked more theatrical than functional.
Iguchi hovered nervously at her side, wringing his hands. "A-are you sure about this? The seal looks… intense."
"It's fine," Sasaki said, though her voice cracked just slightly. "If we don't investigate properly, how can we call ourselves the Occult Research Club?"
Ichigo leaned against the wall a few steps away, hands buried deep in his pockets, expression flat.
This is stupid, he thought.
He didn't feel anything. No pressure. No chill. No prickle crawling up his spine. Nothing stirring in the air, nothing whispering at the edges of his awareness. The object on the table might as well have been a rock for all the reaction it drew from him.
Then again… he never felt anything anymore.
The realization sat heavy in his chest.
Once, he would've known instantly. Once, just stepping into the room would've told him everything he needed to know. Hostile. Dormant. Cursed. Dangerous. His senses had been sharp, unquestionable.
Now there was just emptiness.
Ichigo's fingers curled unconsciously inside his pocket.
They brushed against something solid. Familiar.
His breath caught.
The Soul Reaper badge.
He hadn't taken it out in a long time. Hadn't needed to. Hadn't wanted to. Feeling its shape beneath his fingers sent a dull ache through him, one that bloomed fast and ugly.
Idiot, he thought bitterly. What did you expect?
He swallowed hard.
He knew he shouldn't think like this. He knew the sacrifice had mattered. Lives saved. Futures preserved. That was the point. That had always been the point.
And yet…
If he could go back.
If he could stand there again, blade in hand, Zangetsu's presence steady and certain behind him—
I wouldn't do it, the thought came sharp and unbidden. I'd never give you up again.
"Okay," Sasaki said, snapping him back to the present. "Seal removal in three… two…"
Iguchi stiffened. "Wait, wait—"
She pulled.
The talismans peeled away.
And suddenly, Ichigo could smell.
Not literally, not in the normal sense, but something deeper. Older. Like rot and iron and something sweet gone wrong. It hit him all at once, overwhelming in its wrongness, flooding senses he hadn't realized were still there.
His head snapped up.
The object lay bare now.
A finger.
Shriveled. Blackened. Wrong.
Something breathed.
Ichigo's heart slammed against his ribs.
The room warped at the edges, shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls. In the far corner, where the light didn't quite reach, something moved. A silhouette peeled itself free from the darkness, too tall, too twisted, its shape flickering like a bad reflection.
"RUN!" Ichigo shouted.
The word tore out of him on pure instinct.
Sasaki screamed.
Iguchi didn't argue. They bolted for the door, chairs clattering behind them as they stumbled over each other in their panic.
Ichigo stepped forward instead.
His body moved before his mind caught up.
Feet planted. Shoulders squared.
He yanked his tie loose, letting it fall slack around his collar, fingers tightening as he dropped into a fighting stance that felt achingly familiar. Natural. Right.
The shadow surged.
Ichigo felt it then.
Not power. Not reiatsu.
But purpose.
His blood sang.
Adrenaline flooded his veins, sharp and clean, burning away two years of numbness in an instant. His pulse thundered in his ears as his weight shifted forward, eyes locked on the threat between him and the door.
Protect them.
The thought came effortlessly.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't doubt.
For the first time since losing everything, Ichigo felt amazing.
Alive.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, feral and unrestrained, the kind that hadn't crossed his face in far too long.
"…Just like old times," he muttered.
The curse stepped into the room.
Not all at once. Not cleanly.
It bled into existence, as if reality itself were unsure whether it wanted to accept it. The shadows along the walls thickened, stretching and folding inward, peeling away like wet paper until something crawled out from between them. Its body was humanoid in the loosest, most insulting sense of the word. Limbs bent at the wrong angles, joints swelling and shrinking as if they couldn't decide what shape they were meant to hold. Its skin was mottled and uneven, stretched too tight in some places and sagging grotesquely in others, like something grown too quickly and left unfinished.
Its face was the worst part.
If it could even be called a face.
A wide, lipless mouth split its head nearly in half, lined with teeth that didn't match, some flat, some needle thin, some broken and regrown crooked. There were eyes, but they weren't symmetrical. One bulged outward, cloudy and unfocused, while the other sat sunken deep in its skull, rolling wildly as if searching for something only it could see. Black veins pulsed beneath its skin, throbbing in time with a wet, rasping breath that filled the room with that same rotting, iron sweet stench.
The finger on the table twitched.
Ichigo's breath hitched.
No.
No, this wasn't right.
His instincts screamed, old reflexes flaring so hard it almost hurt. He knew Hollows. He knew their presence, their hunger, their pressure. This thing felt wrong in a completely different way. There was no familiar void, no echoing despair, no mask of sorrow twisted into monstrosity.
"This isn't a Hollow," Ichigo muttered, eyes wide, voice low and tight.
The curse turned toward him.
It smiled.
Ichigo moved.
He didn't think. He ran.
The distance between them vanished in seconds as he drove forward, muscles screaming as he poured everything he had into a single punch. His fist connected solidly with the creature's torso, bone crunching under the impact as the curse was thrown back into the far wall. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the point of impact, plaster raining down onto the floor.
For a heartbeat, hope flared.
Then the curse stood up.
The shattered flesh knitted itself back together with a wet, sickening sound. Bone slid back into place. Torn skin smoothed over, unmarked, as if Ichigo's strike had been nothing more than a suggestion.
Ichigo stared.
No, he thought desperately.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a child swinging at an adult.
He lunged again. And again. Punches landed. Elbows. Knees. Each hit hurt it, visibly so, but the damage never lasted. Every broken piece healed faster than he could tear it apart. His arms burned. His breathing grew ragged.
Two years ago, he wouldn't even have had to lift a finger.
Two years ago, just standing here would've been enough.
His spiritual pressure alone would've crushed this thing into nothing, flattened it like an insect beneath overwhelming force. Zangetsu's presence would've surged behind him, vast and unyielding, drowning the curse before it ever got close.
Now?
Now he was just a guy throwing punches.
Tears stung his eyes, hot and furious.
This is pathetic, he thought. I'm pathetic.
The curse moved faster than he expected.
A massive, malformed hand closed around his throat and slammed him into the ground with bone rattling force. The air burst from his lungs in a choked gasp as his vision blurred. He tried to twist free, but another limb pinned his arm, joints screaming in protest.
Pain exploded across his face as something struck him hard.
Once.
Twice.
Blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic. He spat reflexively, red splattering across the floor as his vision swam. The curse loomed over him, drool spilling from its mouth as it lowered its head, teeth clicking together in anticipation.
It was trying to eat him.
Ichigo struggled, every muscle straining uselessly as panic clawed its way up his spine. His strength meant nothing here. His experience meant nothing. He was being overpowered completely, manhandled like a ragdoll.
So this is it, he thought dimly, fear and bitterness twisting together in his chest. What a rotten end.
Bleeding. Powerless. Eaten by something he didn't even understand.
His fingers twitched weakly.
Zangetsu didn't answer.
And the curse opened its mouth wider.
Twin shapes burst into the room in a blur of motion.
They were wolves, but not quite. Their bodies were sleek and shadow dark, edges shimmering as if half formed from smoke. One was leaner, lighter, its eyes sharp and alert. The other broader, heavier, its presence pressing down on the room like a warning. Their paws struck the floor without a sound as they lunged forward in perfect synchronization, tearing into the curse with snapping jaws and ripping claws.
The pressure on Ichigo vanished.
The weight crushing his chest lifted abruptly as the creature was dragged off him, its shriek cutting short as the twin dogs mauled it with brutal efficiency. Ichigo lay there for a heartbeat, staring at the ceiling, lungs burning as he sucked in air like it might disappear again.
Footsteps approached.
A boy crouched beside him, dark spiky hair framing a face that looked far too delicate for the violence that had just unfolded. His expression was focused, sharp eyes scanning Ichigo quickly.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked.
Something in Ichigo snapped.
Rage surged hot and immediate, drowning out pain, fear, everything else. Not at the curse. Not at the situation.
At this.
At being saved. Again.
At lying on the ground while someone else stood over him, protecting him like he was fragile. Useless.
He scowled up at the boy, teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. "Don't touch me."
The hand reaching toward him was smacked away sharply.
The boy blinked, surprised, but didn't push.
Ichigo rolled onto his side and forced himself up, legs shaking beneath him as he staggered to his feet. His head spun, blood dripping from his nose and split lip, vision swimming, but he stayed standing through sheer stubbornness alone.
He refused to look weak.
He refused to be weak.
Before either of them could say anything else, the window behind them exploded inward.
Glass shattered across the room as a body came flying through, feet first, trailing momentum and poor planning. The figure landed hard, twisting mid air and throwing a powerful kick at absolutely nothing.
The room froze.
Pink haired boy. Wide eyes. Fist still raised.
Itadori Yuji blinked once.
Then again.
Ichigo stared at him.
The spiky haired boy stared at him.
Yuji slowly lowered his leg, glanced around at the very empty space where a curse definitely was not anymore, and scratched the back of his head.
"…Uh."
Silence stretched.
Ichigo looked at the spiky haired boy.
The spiky haired boy looked at Ichigo.
They both looked back at Yuji.
Yuji chuckled sheepishly. "I thought the curse was still here," he said, grin awkward but earnest. "I was just trying to protect you."
That did it.
Ichigo's temper flared instantly, sharp and violent, heat rushing up his spine. "Protect—" he started, stepping forward despite the protest from his bruised ribs. "I don't need—"
"Where's the finger?"
The spiky haired boy cut in sharply, voice calm but urgent. His eyes were already scanning the room, calculating.
Ichigo stopped mid sentence, irritation still burning but overridden by instinct. He turned, following the boy's gaze.
"It's right there," Ichigo said, pointing toward the table.
They all saw it at the same time.
A shadow detached itself from the far wall.
A smaller curse, thin and skittering, lunged forward with unnatural speed. Its clawed hand snatched the shriveled finger off the table and vanished through the door in a heartbeat.
"HEY!" Yuji shouted, already sprinting after it.
The spiky haired boy clicked his tongue and took off immediately.
Ichigo didn't hesitate.
Pain screamed through his body as he ran, lungs burning, vision blurring at the edges. He didn't slow. Didn't think. He chased them down the hallway, feet pounding against tile as adrenaline drowned out everything else.
Up the stairs.
Two at a time.
Bursting through the rooftop door into open air.
The city spread out before them under the darkening sky as the curse scrambled across the rooftop, clutching the finger like a prize.
Ichigo skidded to a stop beside the others, chest heaving.
Too much, he thought distantly.
Too much had happened in one day.
Megumi and Ichigo burst onto the rooftop a heartbeat too late.
The door slammed open behind them, wind whipping across the concrete as the sky stretched wide and dark above. The city lights glittered far below, uncaring, distant. Ichigo's eyes snapped instantly to the center of the rooftop—and his stomach dropped.
Yuji wasn't running anymore.
He was hanging.
A massive curse loomed behind him, its body a writhing knot of muscle and malformed limbs, skin stretched tight and glossy like something pulled straight out of a nightmare. Its arms were long and corded, veins bulging as they wrapped around Yuji's torso and pinned his arms tightly to his sides. Its head was too close to his shoulder, jaws unhinged wide, rows of jagged teeth clamped down around Yuji's legs.
Yuji's feet were wedged between those teeth, straining, shaking as he pushed outward with everything he had to keep the mouth from snapping shut.
And in his mouth—
The finger.
Clenched between his teeth like a lifeline.
"ITADORI!" Megumi shouted, voice sharp with panic as he ran forward. "THROW THE FINGER! NOW! OR YOU'LL GET EATEN!"
Yuji's eyes flicked toward them, wide but still somehow focused. He tried to move his arms.
They didn't budge.
He slammed both feet harder into the curse's mouth, muscles screaming as the teeth creaked under the pressure. His jaw shifted awkwardly around the finger as he tried to yell.
"HOW'M I S'POSED T'THROW IT," he muffled, "WHEN I GOT NO ARMS?!"
The curse snarled, jaws tightening, saliva stringing between its teeth as it strained against Yuji's legs. His boots slipped slightly. His breath hitched.
Ichigo's heart pounded.
Move, he thought desperately. Do something.
Before Megumi could shout again, before Ichigo could even take another step—
Yuji shouted.
And swallowed.
The finger slid down his throat.
The world froze.
Megumi skidded to a stop, eyes blown wide. "You—" His voice cracked. "You just—"
Yuji's eyes went even wider. He gagged reflexively, coughing once as the curse recoiled slightly in confusion.
"…Oops."
Megumi's face drained of color.
"You're going to die," he said flatly, horror seeping into his tone. "No normal human can survive that. There's always a one in a million chance that—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Because the air changed.
It hit like a pressure wave.
Not physical, not something that pushed against the skin, but something deeper, heavier. The atmosphere warped, thickened, as a presence flooded the rooftop—vast, ancient, and violently aware.
Ichigo sucked in a sharp breath.
His instincts screamed.
For just a split second, a memory surfaced unbidden. Karakura Town. The suffocating weight in the air when Aizen had revealed himself. That overwhelming sense of insignificance, of standing before something so far beyond you it didn't even have to acknowledge your existence to crush you.
Is this… what they felt? Ichigo thought distantly.
The curse holding Yuji didn't even get the chance to scream.
It evaporated.
Not exploded. Not torn apart.
Erased.
Its body disintegrated into nothingness, dissolving into black ash that scattered on the wind as if it had never existed at all. Yuji dropped to the rooftop, gasping, clutching his stomach as the pressure intensified, rolling outward like a tidal wave.
Ichigo staggered back a step, eyes locked on Yuji as something else stirred beneath his skin.
Something old.
Something smiling.
The rooftop trembled.
And whatever had just awakened inside Itadori Yuji made one thing horrifyingly clear.
That curse had never stood a chance.