His back to the former shinigami, Ichigo shakes out his fiery hair and straightens his shoulders. There's no resentment, he's never been the type to harbor grudges against anyone but himself. He's stronger for it, for all the things he's gone through in these three days alone. He knows that something has changed, that there's a presence dwelling within him, begging to be set free. But he will be the one to save Rukia, and nothing, and no one, not even that twitch of lunacy dancing in the far reaches of his mind, is going to stop him.
"I don't hate you for what you've done." What he's been made into. He knows the owner isn't all smiles, no matter what he pretends. When his mother died, Isshin told him smiling can keep you from crying. And while he doubts the pale haired man is ready to burst into tears, there's much he feels guilty about, and it's etched deep within the lines of his face.
"You will." Urahara watches closely for any signs, any proof that he's finally taken it a step too far. Worked on his own, at other people's expense, one too many times.
But the young death god's resolve is strong. There's no change in his rietsu, no tic that indicates the anger he expects after leaving a boy in a hole to die, and really, Urahara thinks frantically, that's all he is. A child by society's standards, Soul or otherwise. But as Ichigo stands before him in the robes of his forced profession, as he hefts Zangetsu over his shoulder, he thinks that maybe, this is the last time.
Ichigo Kurosaki cocks his head back, a grim smile on his face.
"This is the work that I have to do."