Chapter 1: At the Courthouse, All Souls Square, Tsubaki-dai District

The air in the courthouse smelled of a hundred bodies growing stale in the summer weather.

It was another one of those sultry days in the Commonwealth of Karakura and no one was going to escape the heat. Not Judge Yamamoto who was sweating beneath his long white hair and beard. Not the unruffled prosecution panel or the indifferent team for the defense -- they were all collectively sweltering beneath their black robes despite the air conditioning.

Definitely not Ichigo Kurosaki, who sat scowling in the back of the crowded room. He was dressed in mufti, and watched the proceedings with a slight expression of distaste and scorn. Droplets of perspiration beaded his forehead.

Something about this case irked him. From the hour the case was handed to the Metropolitan Police of Karakura until the warrant of arrest was issued, Ichigo had a bad feeling about it. Yet it was not his case, and it was not his job to tell the defense that the King's Counsel had railroaded them into a speedy trial. He was, after all, just another inspector in this tiny archipelago. This crime didn't even happen on his turf, what right did he have to comment on it?

The heat was definitely getting to his head. There was no logical reason for Ichigo Kurosaki to be so irritable.

The only one the summer heat didn't seem to affect was the accused, already dressed in the standard white robes of those condemned to death: Rukia Kuchiki.

"Why did they even bother to tag her?" Ichigo Kurosaki growled to himself. The red leather detector on her pale neck was the ultimate humiliation. Only notorious smugglers and repeat offenders were issued those devices that monitor the wearer's location and made escape nearly impossible. "She even looks more young and fragile with that stupid thing on," he muttered to himself. "It totally gives her the sympathy vote of the jury."

Ichigo did not want to admit it, but it certainly won his sympathy. Not that she needed to win it prior to donning the red collar in public. He felt bad for her the moment he saw her.

There was something about that girl. Her eyes were always so cool and warm at the same time ⎯ like dry ice. Ichigo knew that if he had met this woman under different circumstances, she would blow both hot and cold and burn him alive.

Right now, however, were the worst circumstances possible.

Rukia Kuchiki's head was bowed but she was not crying. There was no fear in her face: only resignation.

If there was one thing that Ichigo Kurosaki couldn't accept, it was resignation to one's fate. He didn't believe in fate. He believed in shaping his own. If he believed in fate – hell, he wouldn't be an inspector. He would let the guilty be found out by their crimes.

But things didn't work out that way in real life: the guilty needed to be actively ferreted out. They needed to be pursued and exposed for what they really are. It wasn't that he believed in human justice – the court system was flawed and Ichigo was highly suspicious of it – but he personally liked to know he could sleep with his conscience at night.

"The jury is taking too long."

Ichigo was almost startled by the statement whispered in his ear. He turned around to see a stranger cooling himself with a paper fan. The man's face was in shadows, partly obscured by a large striped hat.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Yes I am," the stranger replied. "I've been watching you. You've been attending the trial since the start."

"Who are you?" Ichigo blurted out.

"Kisuke Urahara," the man smiled toothily. "No, I'm not a ghoul for the courts," he added. "I'm here because the accused is one of my best customers."

Great, Ichigo wanted to roll his eyes. He's just another busybody, an amateur detective with a crack theory.

"Would you be interested to know," Urahara leaned over confidentially, "that she didn't do it?"

"Go tell the press," Ichigo said, bored. "I'm not here for the neighborhood gossip."

"But I'm not a small-time gossip, Ichigo Kurosaki." The eyes were twinkling behind the paper fan.

Ichigo sputtered. "How do you know my name?"

"Your hair makes you a distinctive character, inspector," Urahara said. "Orange hair and a snarl – you should try smiling. You'd stand out less that way."

The inspector decided this man was not worth his time. He was about to stand up, anyway. If he grabbed a snack quickly, he'd be back before the jury made its call.

"Wait!" Urahara said, clutching at Ichigo's arm. "I know why she's innocent. The case against Rukia Kuchiki isn't waterproof. Ask any of their tenants, they will tell you ⎯ "

But before the man in the striped green hat could say more, the lights went out and a collective groan echoed throughout the hall plunged into darkness.

There was a scuffle and before he knew it, the hand holding his arm had involuntarily let go.

Temporarily blinded, Ichigo only heard the twitch of a butterfly knife.

He jumped out of his seat. "Hat man!" he hollered. Without thinking of the repercussions, he raised his voice even louder. "No one move! Someone's been hurt. We need a light here!"

The buzz of sound became insurmountable. Ichigo could hear the disturbance by the exit. There were yells and curses in the air.

Ichigo caught Urahara as he was about to crumble to the floor.

"Tell me what you know," he demanded of the man.

"The Kuchiki may be known for the wealth," Urahara mumbled, "but some envy their beautiful skin and glossy hair." Then he passed out.

The lights were suddenly restored and Ichigo Kurosaki found himself holding a stabbed man. Blood covered his hands.

Ichigo couldn't hear his thoughts over the screaming.

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