Ichigo had trouble thinking straight. Mundane, silly matters like classes and the importance of corn husking in feudal society were the least of his concerns. It was too big of a revelation to bear on his own. The weight of it was heavy on his shoulders, a burden that begged to be shared with someone else for the sake of his sanity.

Finding some privacy at the end of a hallway, he did an internet search on his phone for 'Rukia Kuchiki'. A slew of older news articles filled the screen, most of them about the adoption by her now brother, Byakuya Kuchiki of the Kuchiki Corp empire, some years ago. There were smaller articles, too, about more recent but mundane things, including her KFC sighting. But nothing actually interesting from what he could tell. Random appearances at special events or public endorsements. Tabloid gossip over her choice in designer shoes.

He looked for the social accounts next. All of them were 'RukiaKOfficial' or some bland variation. He barely recognized the perfectly poised woman in the profile pictures, who wore a delicate and subdued smile. If someone had told him it was a Rukia-lookalike, he probably would've believed them.

The social posts matched the profile pictures. Every sentence was perfectly punctuated with formal, polite grammar. The topics were vague and mindless with nothing of substance. Almost as if they were written by a robot. They were more like school announcements instead of a person's thoughts. A recent post said, 'Recently, I was seen visiting a restaurant to charge my phone. I apologize for any misunderstanding! I hope everyone has a very nice day.'

The replies ranged from sympathetic to openly mocking. She'd been tagged by some other accounts, all referencing KFC and posting memes. Some PicTexts involving fried chicken had been posted. The Rukia account didn't interact with any of them. He scrolled through earlier posts, only to find they were all the same. Sometimes it was an endorsement of a product or brand.

He went to his followed accounts list and opened Chappy's feed. The familiar icon of her white rabbit avatar greeted him next to her latest post. 'Buffing 'Stun Punch'? Yes, of course I want to be stunned for three more seconds, helpless to respond during a video game. Why would that be a problem? Idiots.' The previous posts were about new game releases, upcoming gaming expos, and a link to a video strategy guide for the animal cooking game she was playing a few days before.

There were rabbit gifs, too.

A lot of them.

He usually checked Chappy's social feeds at least once a day. He didn't even play any of the games she talked about. But it was a way to be involved, hearing the latest news on game updates through her perspective. Somehow, she made it interesting.

And Chappy's unique attitude didn't hurt, either.

He almost wanted to doubt his revelation again; maybe he really was mistaken? The question was gone a mere second later. Chappy was Rukia Kuchiki, he reminded himself. As strange and unbelievable as it was.

What was he going to do? The question nagged at him, taunting him without any clear answer. He wasn't a friend of Chappy, not really. He watched her streams and chatted a little, but that was it. There wasn't any real trust beyond that. He'd just proven that he wasn't a jerk in chat and didn't tolerate anyone else who was. She might assume he was some internet creep. She'd dealt with some of those, he knew.

Ichigo remembered an incident from several months ago. Chappy had played several rounds of Soul Reapers 2 with a random player. She offered to support their character in battle, freely giving advice and information over the voice chat. Except it wasn't actually a new, random player- it was another streamer, one with a sizable audience, and he was playing a prank for views.

Someone notified Chappy in the chatbox. The change was immediate. She transformed from a calm, patient, helpful teammate into a torrent of fury. She was not wild in her anger, but focused and targeted- like a wolf going after prey.

It was terrifying.

"I don't tolerate liars," she ordered, a coldness to the way she narrowed her eyes. The prank streamer was promptly blocked; in the game, in her stream, even in her chat server. No one could so much as utter the username ever again. Ichigo couldn't even remember who it was anymore.

Ichigo muttered a curse and raked a hand through his hair, realizing he had no idea what was he was going to do next. Revealing to Chappy- Rukia- that he knew her carefully guarded real-life identity seemed risky. He barely knew her, after all.

He also valued his life.

The secret was a heavy one. It weighed heavily already, and it had only been an hour.

His next class was coming up soon, but Ichigo knew schoolwork was a lost cause. Instead, he kept sitting where he was, thoughts going back and forth much like a game of tennis.

Normally, he'd never think to talk about it with someone else. He could handle problems on his own, especially if it meant others didn't have to worry. That was how it was supposed to be.

Briefly, he considered going to his hair salon and relating his situation to Tamiko-san, but he realized she was off that day of the week. And Kiriko-san still held a small grudge after he shrugged off her opinion of feral cats. And his hair wasn't due for another touchup for another week, so he couldn't pass that off as an excuse. The timing was unfortunate. All the women there had the uncanny ability to draw out all but the most guarded of personal problems.

Thinking again, he remembered did know another internet celebrity; one of precisely three people on campus that could be trusted with secrets of the most serious sort. And that not-a-friend was usually hanging around the fashion design building. Not that Ichigo needed any kind of advice from a jerk like that. But he could casually share what he'd learned. Yeah. That was fine.

Ichigo abruptly stood up, pocketed his phone, grabbed his bookbag, and set off in a determined stride.

Ishida had an eventful morning.

A blight marred the walk to his first class. The university mascot, 'Shini-san', was bounding around in the commons courtyard; Its garish black polyester fabric, topped with a bulbous purple head marked with wide, staring eyes and chiseled white teeth, was less of a sight to behold as it was an assault on the senses. Its construction, technically, was top-notch. But its design was horrific even to the less stylistically inclined.

To Ishida, It was an affront to style and the principles of design as a whole. The creature was supposed to be a soul reaper while trying to be cute and memorable in the most loathsome of ways. It represented all that was wrong with the fashion world. Creativity and unique style was overrun with generic corporatism in a broad march of soulless marketing. Tasteless ideas thrown about for public consumption, mindlessly following what they're told, in lieu of personal expression.

Whoever was responsible for the abomination that was Shini-san deserved to rot in hell, Ishida thought. They deserved disgrace and nothing else.

With a frustrated sigh, he averted his gaze and tried to focus on his upcoming class.

Later, he was taunted by a different, much lesser obstacle.

There were several areas of campus that were dangerous. The actual risk to one's life was minimal- it was a nice part of the city, and the risk of falling debris from eternal construction work was usually very low. The danger came in the form of small stacks of papers, printed with information, and the people attempting to pass them out.

They stood spread out like a net, intent on capturing any who dared cross through the busiest of thresholds. Eyes roving for their next target.

But the students learned the skills to survive. They instinctively ducked their heads as they walked. Eye contact was avoided at all costs. A brisk pace made it harder to be stopped, causing the other students to try shoving papers in their path. Some passerbys lunged away. Some risked polite smiles, shaking their heads preemptively, as they speed-walked through the threshold. Most simply pretended to be looking at their phones.

Ishida didn't need to pretend. He had enough of his life online as QuincyFashion. He was checking the latest updates as he approached the throng of students attempting to give out flyers. Head down, eyes on his screen.

"I-Ishida-kun!"

That particular voice made him look up sharply. "Inoue-san?"

Orihime Inoue was waving at him happily, a small stack of flyers held to her chest. "Y-yes! Hello, Ishida-kun."

Ignoring the overwhelming, instinctive urge to run away from the flyers, he moved towards her. "Hello, Inoue-san," he said, mentally collecting himself. "I see you're promoting something…?"

She blinked before realization struck. "Oh! Yes," she nodded. "Our newest play starts soon! Some students started on it during the break. It's a period drama set in the distant past!" She handed him a leaflet. It was printed in black and white, and was probably designed in Powerpoint.

He reached for it without hesitation, eyes scanning the poster. "Is that a chainsaw?"

"Oh, no!" She laughed. "That's just a prop one."

"…I see." Uyru had a great deal of questions, but they were all whisked away by the mere presence of Orihime. "Do you have a role in the performance?"

"Oh! N-no… I work backstage," she glanced down, fidgeting with the flyers.

"I see."

Behind her, a fellow classmate tried to hand a flyer to a man walking by. In a smooth motion he spun on his heel, moving in an arc around the student, never facing them for a second.

"B-but, I wanted to talk to you, because I joined the Handicraft Club. But I didn't see you at the meeting…."

Ishida had the unfortunate project of overseeing materials for the fashion design department. It meant hours spent in the evenings coordinating ordering, inventory, and inspecting materials for quality. The professors and their assistants lacked the taste or discernment to do it properly. The semester's makeshift 'supplies' were still being delivered, taking up much of his free time. The Handicraft Club meetings would have to wait another week or two. Regrettable, but necessary, he knew. "I'm sorry. I wasn't able to make the first meeting this week," he said.

He couldn't stand the look of disappointment that flashed across her face, quickly covered with a cheerful smile. "Oh, I see…"

In vain, he tried to think of an answer that would absolve her distress. But nothing truthful could be said. "I apologize, Inoue-san. It may be another week or so until I'm able to attend."

She smiled, eyes glittering with hope despite it. "Ah… That's okay, Ishida-kun. I understand. I'm sure you're busy with school… And QuincyFashion, and all…"

"You… Follow my account?"

"Of course," she nodded, very soberly.

Mentally, he started to review all his posts for signs of her interactions; what comments may have been hers, what she liked; all impossible since he didn't know her username. "Are-"

"Come on, Inoue-san! Pick up the pace!" One of the other theater students called.

Ishida cleared his throat, shooting a glare at the man. "I should get going. Thank you for the flyer, Inoue-san."

She smiled, as if embarrassed. "Y-yes!"

With a cordial nod, he went into the fashion design building.

Finding the building took longer than Ichigo cared to admit. The illegible signs did him no favors, and messaging Ishida was out of the question. So he finally asked strangers for directions, instead.

He noted the students passing flyers out front. He grabbed his phone and pretended to be engrossed in it, his head down, walking at a brisk pace. Two students tried to call out to him, waving flyers in his direction and shouting about an upcoming campus play. A brief sigh escaped his lips when he reached the safety of the doors.

The building was home to other creative trades, and it took Ichigo a good several minutes of randomly wandering the halls to find what seemed like a room for sewing. He knew this from the sewing machines inside of it.

A second or so went by for him to realize some of the people in the room were actually mannequins- gray, metallic, and lumpy. A group of students were wrapping someone's chest in duct tape like some kind of mummy; their arms held up and outwards like a T-posing character in a video game. An idle chatter was pervasive in the room.

'Uh," Ichigo started. 'Hey, is Ishida here?"

"I'm surprised, Kurosaki. I thought finding this place was beyond your navigational ability." Ishida looked up from a design table in the far corner with sketches laid out in front of him. He'd made little progress that day, and only barely resisted the urge to painstaking search his social media feeds for signs of Orihime interacting with him.

Ichigo practically skid around the desks and students. "Hey. Can-" he blinked, doing a double-take at the wrapping. "What the hell's going on?"

"We're making dress forms from duct tape," a student said. "The real ones are expensive. But we're always looking for models! What size do you wea-"

"He won't be helping, I'm afraid," Ishida said.

Ichigo stared a few more seconds at the man being bound in duct tape before tearing his eyes away. "…Anyway. I need to talk to you."

His roommate-not-friend slightly arched a brow, about to utter another remark. Instead, he noted the tighter-than-usual scowl on Ichigo's brow, the lack of a comeback. Both worrisome things, Ishida knew.

With a nod, he led Ichigo toward a door in the back of the room. Inside were rolled bolts of fabrics and trims, lining the walls on all sides. An excellent sound buffer, too.

"What is it?" Ishida asked. He closed the door behind them. "Is it about your… record?"

Ichigo leaned against a shelf, staring into space and deep in thought. "No, it's not that." he said. "I- You can keep this secret, right?" He looked up at Ishida soberly.

Ishida snorted. "No, just like I can't be trusted to know you were the viral internet sensation from nearly two year ago."

Ichigo let out a huff of air, as familiar images came to his mind- light colors, trimmed with white lace; the tile up against his face at an awkward angle; Yuzu, yelling about romance novels-

He shook the memory away. "I'm being serious," he grunted.

"You shouldn't need to ask."

"…Yeah. Okay." Ichigo nodded, then raked a hand through his hair and held it there. He looked at the ground. "You know that Kuchiki girl, right?"

Ishida remembered her easily, the minor 'celebrity' on campus. She wore expensive designer labels in classic mixes of neutral colors and tasteful, subtle accents. Classy, but not flashy or pompous. He'd tried to take a picture of her outfit, once, in order to feature it online. She'd politely but adamantly asked him not to- citing her privacy. He respected that. But beyond that brief encounter, he didn't know much about her. No one did, he thought.

"I'm aware of her, yes."

"And you know that streamer I watch… The one with the rabbit avatar, right?"

Ishida watched his friend carefully, particularly curious at his serious tone, and the way he continued to stare downward. "Yes. Why?"

"I…" He grit his teeth, trying to find the words, frustrated. "I think she's the same person. No… I know she is."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking." Ichigo looked up. "I proved it. Today, earlier in class."

Ishida inclined his head at an angle. "And how, might I ask, do you know this?"

Ichigo hesitated visibly. "I matched her voice."

"I thought she used a filter?"

"There's an old clip when it stopped working one day. I matched it to that."

"You saved old clips of her?" There was a note in his voice that was inquisitive, but judging.

"It's nothing creepy," Ichigo scowled. "It's just a clip I saved, okay?"

"I didn't say it was creepy. It's interesting that you did, however."

"Shut up- Just listen! I messaged her in class. Chappy, I mean. And I saw her- Kuchiki- respond. I know it's her. It's her."

Ishida pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't have thought of her as the streaming, gamer type."

"Yeah, and I wouldn't have thought she's the type to beat up three guys in a KFC parking lot."

There were few times in Ishida's life when he was confused beyond words. That was one of them. "…E-Excuse me?"

"Just- Nevermind. I know it's her! It's crazy… But I had to tell someone," Ichigo said.

"…Do you mean 'beat' them, as in, with words?"

"No, I mean literally. She beat the hell out of a bunch of guys."

Ishida questioned, briefly, if he was indeed fully awake.

"If you were involved in a fight-"

"I wasn't seen," Ichigo said. "Not really. They're not gonna cause trouble. The school's not going to know."

"What are you going to do?" Ishida asked, though he was still very much thinking of the fight a the KFC parking lot. "Maybe you can pretend you don't know her identity? She's a very private person. I'm not sure she's close to anyone on campus. It would be the decent thing to do, out of respect."

"I'm supposed to work with her on this project for class. I can't just ignore her. And I'm not just going to forget something like this… I've already known her online. It's not like we're strangers."

"You're not internet friends, you know."

Ichigo's eyes flashed, faintly, as he looked at his friend. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ishida sighed, the words coming easily to him, given the time he'd spent thinking about the matter over several months. "It's a parasocial relationship."

"What the hell's that?"

"It's what happens with internet celebrities with direct fan followers- although it's more notable in the streaming world. It's the effect of viewers watching and engaging with a creator. They have the means to interact with the person directly, unlike traditional celebrities. Similarly, the creators often adopt friendly, relatable personalities. In doing so, they foster an atmosphere of inclusiveness that gives viewers the chance to feel connected to them.

"But it's an illusion," he looked straight at Ichigo. "It's a one-way relationship, as the viewers feel a personal connection to the talent. It's merely a part of the medium for an online streamer. They don't act as themselves. They adopt a persona. That's what the fans connect with. Not the real person underneath."

Ichigo stared, resentment growing inside him the more his friend spoke. Everything he said made sense, calmly thought out, and probably well-researched- but it just pissed Ichigo off. Even if his friend was probably right. "It's not like that with her."

Ishida sighed. "That's always the assumption. Cognitive Dissonance tends to be the response."

"Shut up! It's not like that. I've seen her enough, talked with her-"

"Have you talked with her directly? Outside of the stream?"

Ichigo smirked. "Yeah. Today."

He raised a brow. "And?"

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. "I was just proving if it was Kuchiki- We didn't say much." A subtle excitement overcame him, as if he'd won a small but notable victory. "But I can message her. One-on-one. She seemed happy to talk with me. And she doesn't have an act on stream!" he said, irritated again. "I've known her long enough for that."

"I'm sure."

Ichigo glared. "Yeah, like you'd know."

"I just know how the internet works. I have my own following, after all." Ishida took out his phone and checked his feed for the latest notifications and reactions. "I've seen enough of it online. There are always overexcited, creepy fans. I'm sure Chappy- Or, as you say, Kuchiki-san- has dealt with them herself."

"I'm not a creep!" Ichigo said, very much worried that he was a creep for what he'd learned, and how much time he already spent watching and thinking about Chappy.

"Of course," Ishida said curtly, tinged with amusement.

Ichigo scowled and glared. He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm going to get some air." He moved past Ishida.

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Kurosaki."

Ichigo stopped, his hand still on the door handle, refusing to meet Ishida's gaze. "I'll be fine."

"Secrets have a tendency to act out on their own when we least expect them. Even with the best of intentions."

"Whatever."

Ichigo yanked open the door and trudged away, back onto campus.

He just needed to prove his roommate wrong.