*=On the Crossing to Choose=*

Chapter Nine


Ichigo ran heels over head through the streets of Karakura Town like a Japanese Forrest Gump who ate too many carrots. There was no fear or uncertainty on his face; he was a man on a mission. But before he could carry out his mission, he needed a bit more training. The only person on Earth who could act as his mentor for said training just so happened to live in the same town, only a few blocks down the road. (Lucky guy, that Ichigo). Nothing was going to stand in his way or make him falter for a moment.

...Besides a leg poping out of a bush and tripping the poor boy in the middle of his marathon. Now, who would possibly go and do a thing like that?

Ichigo fell hard, plummeting to the ground faster than his brain could function. His body connected with the ground with a bang, backed up by both his body weight and the force of his sprint. Even I couldn't help but wince as his face skidded across the pavement from residual inertia. Once he settled, though, and let out a pathetic little whimper, that wince turned into a basket full of giggles. I had my work cut out for me; the kid couldn't even dodge a foot.

My mini humor fest somehow brought me to a short session of bathing in the setting sun rays. Maybe it was just me, but opening my eyes up once they closed, for whatever, was harder than a pickle. Besides, the sun was best enjoyed when it was low in the sky at the end of the day - at the end of a long, super strenuous day.

But it sucked when some jerk went and blocked out your light source.

I peeled an eye open, feeling a small sum of fear well up within me. Sure enough, Ichigo didn't exactly look like he'd enjoyed his fall quite as much as I had.

I forced a dilapidated grin onto my face to try to ease the situation, probably looking like the bride of Chuckie. "Hey, Mikan - er, Ichigo! How are ya? Aha..."

The carrot-top angled his head, allowing the fading sunlight to both catch and shadow his face in a few key places. If I looked like the bride of Chuckie, then Ichigo's face was definitely that of Chuckie himself. (They even had the same unruly orange hair!). I knew at that moment I was about to die.

"Kame..."

For a moment I thought the Devil in the flesh had sought me out. Any hubris I had been feeling hitherto had been gulped up by some courage-sucking parasite. I was no better than the Cowardly Lion - though less hairy. But also less bulky and lacking of sharp teeth and claws. Still, lions were the kings of the jungle, weren't they? Lions dominated vegetation! Lions chewed fruit up and spat it out! And I would do the same to this citrus boy, by law of the food chain.

With that rejuvenating thought I held Ichigo's stare, keeping my expression just as stony as his. I made sure to hold back the twitch that itched under the pressure, keeping my gaze even and obdurate. It seemed to work after a moment, since the killing intent Ichigo was sending my way lessened enough for me to see the real boy underneath it all.

"Uh...Kame?"

I kept my face smooth, completely empty of all emotion. I wouldn't crack just because he had.

"Kame?"

Blank.

"Kame."

Nothing.

"Kame!"

I sneezed. Crap.

I ducked my head, trying to clean the snot from my face as quickly as possible. Was it just me, or did everyone's body seem more likely to make a mess of itself in public?

I came back up when the mucus had all been rubbed into my sleeve and squinted at the silhouette standing over me. Evening was a bad time for Ichigo; he blended right in with the sky.

"Ichigo," I greeted, my voice coated in a sugary muck of faux friendliness and surprise. "I didn't see you there. Where did you come from?"

I sounded like Urahara. Disgraceful.

I predicted the appearance of Ichigo's infamous scowl beforehand. The boy grunted, squatted down to put us on an even level and slapped me a look that was anything but consoling. I nearly grimaced at the sight of his smoldering red, blistering cheek. What a horrible profile. I should have just Ding-Dong-Ditched it.

"Mikita." His voice was clouded with a calmness that only came before the most devastating of storms. I squeaked in reply, not quite trusting myself with words. "Did you just hide in a bush and trip me?"

I laughed with grotesque exaggeration. "What? Me? No, of course not! Foolish mortal, would I do something that cruel?"

Yes.

I knew the three letter word flashed through both of our minds in that moment. I coughed as cover-up and got down to business.

"Anyway," I said, bundling up some confidence that had been hanging out in my bowels, "we're not here to discuss your lack of grace, endurance, instincts, or anything of the sort."

Ichigo grit his teeth. "What do you mean by that? Nobody could dodge that kind of cheap shot-"

"Don't interrupt me, Ichigo," I barked. I took a moment to take in his sour-apples attitude before going on. "We're here to discuss your lack of grace, endurance, instincts, and everything of the sort."

"But you just said-"

"Hush." I wrestled with my limbs, pulling myself up into a cross-legged position to even our stare and maximize my image of authority. Ichigo was a worm about it, but he was willing to listen. "We all know there's no chance you'll be able to make an impression on the Soul Society with the condition you're in now, so Urahara and me are going to whip you into shape before the deadline, Billy Blanks style." I smirked, regaining my flare for tyranny. "You don't want to keep Rukia waiting, do you, Ichigo?"

"Rukia..." Ichigo muttered, the word only serving as an empty expression. He looked up from the concrete, which he'd been clenching, and my my gaze with hardened eyes.

"You're going to teach me about this Soul Reaper stuff and help me to get stronger? You, personally?" Ichigo demanded, leaving no hint of a question. I gave him one curt nod, and he leapt at it. "So you're a Soul Reaper too, then? If you know so much about the Soul Society and Soul Reapers then you must be, right?"

I didn't respond that time, but Ichigo didn't seem to care. He was back in his own world, drawing his own conclusions.

The big-headed troll was in for a rude awakening one of these days if he kept that up.


"Whoa! Amazing! Who'd have know there was such a huge subterranean space under the store?"

"Me."

Hadn't Urahara ever heard of using his "inside voice"? Just because the training room looked like it was a wasteland didn't give him right to treat it like one. He deserved to have his parade rained on for being such a jejune loud-mouth.

"Shut up," Ichigo voiced, apparently sharing my sentiment. "Obviously you knew this was down here. You don't have to shout for me. I'm already surprised enough."

The last statement was accompanied by a glare my way. I grinned easily, waving aside his hostility.

"Don't be a sour sport, Kurosaki," I said. "Take responsibility for your own mistakes."

"You chucked me down a black hole, Kame! How was any of that my fault?"

"I wouldn't have had to force you down if you'd just listened."

"Is being told to go down some pit in a storage room supposed be normal advice?"

I blinked. That was actually a pretty reasonable point of view; Ichigo had obviously seen The Silence of the Lambs. But still, I was always right, so he was wrong. Ichigo was supposed to be trusting us (me and Urahara) to guide him in regaining his spiritual powers; we weren't the ones who had gotten him into this conundrum, were we? Whiner.

"Let's just get on with it already," Ichigo receded, crossing his arms. "This study-group or whatever."

The kid had no idea what he was signing up for.


As it turned out, I had had no idea what I was signing up for.

Phase One of the training session had been close to epic, I admit. Ururu had totally owned Ichigo in physical battle, and seeing the latter running for dear life from a grade school girl was the kind of thing that made me wish I knew more people who I could pass the image along to. Even Phase Two, which involved Ichigo hog-tied at the bottom of yet another ditch, wasn't much less than great. (Tessai was down there as well, posing as damage control. It was sort of like a pedo posing as a priest; Ichigo was so getting raped.)

But the carnival did get old. Especially when a certain someone had lied about me being an active part of it rather than just a member of the audience.

"You have a total of seventy-two hours to make it out of the Shattered Shaft, Ichigo," Urahara said, further explaining the second lesson. If that was supposed to sound ominous, the sentiment vroomed right over my head, since the only thing I was thinking about was how pornographic the title "Shattered Shaft" sounded. "That's the time it will take for your Chain of Fate to complete the encroachment. By the end of that period, if you have not returned to the top of the shaft as a Shinigami, then we will have no choice, Ichigo, but to kill you."

I yawned. Seventy-two hours of watching Ichigo acting like a fool in a hole? Tempting, but I'll pass for the first seventy or so. That would be missing out on much too much beauty sleep and chow time.

I didn't bother to announce my departure to any of the others, since they were all a little too engrossed in watching something that was going to be around for three full days. I would spend those three full days enjoying an entire house-slash-candy shop to myself.

Suckers.


It was late. Didn't know what time. But it was the second day of Ichigo's training. I think.

The shouten didn't have a family room, exactly, but there was something like a spare junk room that served the purpose well enough. It had a TV, anyway, which was the only thing I really cared about. I could handle camping out on the floor while watching it.

There really was nothing like having the house to yourself for a night or two. The only downside was the inevitable weight gain due to non-stop lounging and chowing, but it was still worth it at the end of the book. Well, there was the slightly terrifying experience of being home alone once the sun went down, too. I could take on a bugler, though. Fo sho.

Urahara just took me by surprise, the bastardly ninja.

"Having a good time, Kita-Chan?"

I'm sure he must have noticed me stiffen despite the television as the only light source, but I doubted his nose was good enough to smell the few drops of urine that I couldn't hold in.

I didn't respond right away, but stared straight ahead at the Craig Ferguson Show as if I hadn't heard Urahara. Once I had regain my cool, my lips parted.

"Yup. You?"

Urahara let out a single chuckle. "If you want to call it that."

And from there the conversation stilted. Six gay babies were born.

"You should be down there with us, you know. This opportunity is as beneficial for you as it is for Ichigo."

I raised a brow, finally turning to face my guest. "The only way it would have been beneficial to me was if I got to kick the kid around a little, which I didn't. Unless that's Phase Three?"

Urahara's face, which was already pretty grim, darkened even more.

"Ichigo would tear you down in a second, Mikita, and your big talk can't change that," he said, the words riding out on an exhale. "You never fully dedicated yourself to your original training, and it's been such a long time since you abandoned it that you'd basically be starting off from scratch if you tried to pick it up again now."

I hesitated, not sure how I wanted to react to the facts of life being pointed out to me. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm up here and not down there then, huh? Saves all of us the trouble."

"You know," Urahara hummed, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting as they caught mine, "I'm not sure it is a good thing. A little bit of trouble can go a long way in the right direction."

I was uncomfortable and I knew I wasn't doing such a stellar job of hiding it. I looked back at the TV, fumbled for the remote control, and started flicking through channels for no reason at all.

"So investing a lot of trouble into Ichigo should turn him into freakin' Hercules, no?" I said. "I'll be selfless here and give him the honor of saving the world."

I wasn't stupid. I knew what Urahara was trying to say between all the tongues, but I wasn't going to take the bait. He could suck it. He could suck it hard. Long and hard.

I could feel Urahara's stare on me, but I kept my eyes on the screen like a zombie, still channel surfing. I was waiting for Urahara to make the next move, but at the same time I already knew what would be coming. Maybe it was just that expectation itself that made me so antsy, but either way I was unwilling to wait for the inevitable.

"Look," I said, dropping the remote and turning to face Urahara instead. "I know you and the cosmos collaborated to organize some kind of Ninja Warrior deal here, but I've somehow developed a sense of free will since evolving from the apes. I'm staying out of it, okay?"

Urahara didn't really look like he was okay with it, judging from his expression, but I wasn't exactly asking for his permission. What could he do about it? As juvenile as it sounded, he couldn't make me do a damn thing if I didn't want to.

After staring me down for what felt like the length of a presidential speech, Urahara backed off with a sigh and head rub.

"I see," was all he said about it. He didn't try to put on that phony goof-ball act of his when he looked up again, but he also didn't seem like he was all that disappointed. "You never have been one to respond well to Procrustean methods, so I suppose trying to convince you to change your mind wouldn't do me any good."

I didn't know what the word "Procrustean" meant, but I go the gist of it based on the context. As glad as I should have been that Urahara wasn't going to put more effort into making me see things his way, a small part of me was a little not-so-thrilled that I apparently wasn't important enough to fight for.

But still, I won, right?

I nodded once, both to my own thoughts and Urahara's, before turning to what turned out to be a rerun of The Nanny.

"Feel free to come join us at any time," Urahara offered. "You know where we'll be."

I brought a hand up some form of a wave. Urahara's footsteps were faint, but the clicking of his wooden sandals faded into the interior of the house. When I was sure he was gone, I was glaring at Fran a little more intensely than she probably deserved.

My eyes dropped to my lap, where I fiddling with my thumb ring. Even if I considered humoring Urahara by becoming one of his dancing monkeys, the likelihood that I would take any action towards it was only slightly above zero. Consideration was a waste of time, just like so many other things going on around me. Why didn't anyone else see it the same way I did?

Instead, I struggled up to my feet and made for the store portion of the building. Candy was calling, and candy was one thing that was never a waste of time.


"Hey, you getting hungry down there yet?"

It was a below-the-belt taunt when directed at a kid who was stuck in a hole for seventy-two hours, and I would have expected nothing less of Jinta. But was there more to it? Wasn't getting hungry dangerous or something for a Plus (or whatever the hell Ichigo was at that point in time)? I didn't really remember.

(And anyway, who could not be hungry after going so long without food? How was Jinta himself not hungry? Or, better yet, in need of a restroom or nap?)

I dragged my feet along the training arena, closing in on the epicenter of the noise. Yeah, I'd caved. Mostly just because I'd gotten bored, and the deadline for Ichigo's Hollofication was almost up anyway. It wasn't like I was going to go into kung-fu fighter mode myself or anything; I was just there to see a live-action show that would hopefully be worth climbing up and down that mile-long latter.

"It's okay to feel thirsty, though," Jinta went on, leering over the cliff's edge. "And if you do get thirst, go ahead and drink my spit."

I paused in my steps, watching with wide eyes as Jinta, laying flat on his belly, leaned over the sharp decline in the earth. "C'mon, Ururu, get over here. You can do it, too."

The two children harmonized without any sign of a quarrel, finding common ground in spitting on their elder. I had never been more proud. They had finally found a suitable activity to do together. The sibling bonding had begun.

"I wonder if it's dark out side yet," Urahara said. He was standing a bit off from me, although I wasn't sure if he'd been there all along or wandered over while I was distracted. "It's hard to tell from this room."

I didn't bother to dig up the energy to answer. Was he trying to make small talk? Bozo.

It was after only a few moments of standing around like geeks that some kind of gust picked up, swirling around the walls of the pit. And not just one of those spring breeze type of deals; it was a mini tornado that stank of damnation.

"Alright," Jinta commented, "looks like he's gonna become a Hollow after all."

It did look like it, but most Visual Kei artists also looked like women. You couldn't judge anything at first glance. Ichigo could still pull some miracle off at the last minute. If anyone could, it was him.

Ururu flexed a green-bean-ish arm. "I've got to go down there and help."

"Hold on," Urahara asserted. "Watch him closely, nothing more. Usually when a Whole becomes a Hollow their physical body explodes and then reforms. But in his case, the order is all mixed up. The mask is beginning to form while his body is still a Whole. This is a sign that he is resisting. There is still a strong possibility that he'll become a Soul Reaper, so let's just watch and see."

My mind was stuck on the image of Ichigo exploding. How rad did that sound? At least if the kid did give up, he would go out in style.

As light-hearted as I tried to be about it all, Ichigo's screams got to me as they continued, sending goose bumps up my arms. Those kinds of wails were no joke. He had to have been suffering, but was he in pain or just reacting to such a drastic, sudden change?

Either way, it was getting to me, like I said. I was ready to evacuate the situation as nothing but a spectator, so how could Ichigo still be hanging in there when he was the one going through it? I really didn't understand that kind of conviction.

"He's at his absolute limit, boss," Tessai's voice echoed from the pit of the crater. "I'm switching into suppression mode!"

"Hey, careful down there, Tessai," Jinta added, his brow pinched. "If you do all that to him at once, he could die!"

I bounced back and forth on my feet, not liking the experience at all. It wasn't so fun when there was something so serious on the line. What if Ichigo really did die? I might have joked about it, but I didn't actually want it to happen. I should have just stayed upstairs.

"I can't hold him any longer," Tessai announced. "He must be destroyed immediately before he becomes a Hollow."

Tessai's kidou advanced to the third level, making a huge something appear above our heads before plummeting into the depths of the pit. I had enough sense to know the move wouldn't be as simple as one of those cartoon pianos falling on Wile Coyote's head. It was an unconscious act, but when I opened my eyes after a blink I was a football field's length away from the spot where I'd been standing previously. I barely had the time to process that fact when an explosion was set off from Ichigo's (literal, perhaps) grave.

I clenched my teeth at the near supersonic boom, using one of my arms to shield my eyes from the burning flames that shot out of the crater's mouth.

"Look at that! Something's shooting out of it!"

I glanced to the side, seeing that Urahara had grabbed Jinta and Ururu before using his own Shunpo to escape immediate danger. I hadn't even spared a thought for their safety.

I got over my lack of maternal instinct without another thought, though. I turned back to the scene, and, sure enough, a burning ball had separated from the inferno. It soared through the air like a comet before crashing to the earth with the same force. Once it hit the ground and settled, so did the miniature Hell it had branched from.

"Just what is that?" Jinta asked after a couple of beats. Collectively, we all moved in. "Hey, is that you? Answer me, Carrot-Top!" When there was no answer, Jinta's voice took on a slight shake. "If you're alright, answer me!"

The smoke that had been hanging around burned off some more, revealing a silhouette. The parking-cone hair was Ichigo's without a doubt, but there were a few pretty important alterations to his image - like the Hollow's mask and glowing red eyes. But then, there was a shihakushou thrown in there as well. So, which was it? Was that even possible? Part Hollow, part Reaper, and (maybe) part human?

Whatever he was, the Ichigo-hybrid lifted an arm to grab hold of the sword slung over his shoulder. Ururu and Jinta fell into defensive positions but, rather than attack, the man used the hilt of his sword to smash the mask on his face.

Low and behold, it really was a living Ichigo.

So what do you know: good wins out over evil. Despite the predictability of the ending, I was inexpressibly happy with it. Just don't tell anyone.


Lesson Three commenced. A fight between Urahara and Ichigo lead to what else but Ichigo's acquiring of a zanpakutou. (Zangetsu, if I heard correctly. It was a pretty wussy name for a killing machine if you asked me, but Urahara's Benihime wasn't any better). There were, of course, a few too many stop-and-tell-a-story pauses in the struggle, but they helped to put Ichigo to sleep when it was all finally over, at least.

(But maybe that was just the fact that he'd been awake and in an extremely high stress mode for four straight days. Who knows? Not I.)

The only thing that really took me aback by it all was its effect on me. Ichigo and his buddies may have been willing to march into the Soul Society, but I was the one who had had reservations about it - wise reservations, if I could be so bold to say.

In the aftermath of Ichigo's training, though, I was almost itching to make our move.

Okay, so I may not have been in the best physical condition. I may not have had the most experience. But I was street smart, if that counted for anything, and I didn't let my emotions control me. Those two factors were lacking in the rest of the crew and, for what was ahead of us, they may have been two of the most important when it came to preserving our own lives. It was all well and good that these kids wanted to save Rukia, but what good would it do anyone if both the rescue team and Rukia herself choked?

Besides, I'd been in the same town with the same people since before electricity had been invented. It was time for a change of scenery at the very least, wasn't it?

I was in, for better or worse. Maybe I would regret it, and maybe I wouldn't. I wouldn't know unless I tried, and what did I have to lose? Call me cocky or crazy or whatever, but I had a feeling that if anyone were to die on this mission, it wasn't going to be me. But me being there could revent some of the dying. Maybe. Just maybe.

But probably not.

Still, how could I possibly make the situation any worse by being a more prominent part of it? How could the situation get any worse? I could only help. Even a crippled pidgeon could only help.

Those guys needed me. And who was I to deny a friend or five in need?

Besides, kicking ass was like riding a bike, wasn't it? Urahara was just being dramatic, as usual. I would be fine and fierce and back in action. I would make Urahara eat his foot.

Or die trying, I guess, but it was a chance I was willing to take.