AN: I'd like to give thanks to the IchiRuki discord for being supportive, helping with random facts, and encouraging me to keep writing despite my crazy ideas!
Chapter 1 - Time to Stop
The lecture had droned on for an excruciating two years, thirty-seven days, and five hours- give or take a minute or so.
At least, that was how it seemed to Rukia. In reality, it had only been one hour and forty minutes.
But the particulars didn't matter, in the end. She only knew that class should have ended twenty minutes ago, and that the professor had been rambling on about everything from his preferred car color (gray, supposedly neutral and theft-deterring) to the different uses for oils in cooking. Worse, still, it had absolutely nothing to do with Technical Writing I.
Rukia sat with her laptop packed away with the rest of her things. Students around her had done the same.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," the professor said with a chuckle, thoroughly oblivious to the impatient stares of the many students around him. "What about smoking point? What about frying rice? Does that make a difference?"
She contemplated many things, including slamming her head against the desk or sending her own unamused glare at the professor. Her eyes darted to her phone for the hundredth time that hour.
"It does. Remember what I said about coconut oil? Evil, evil, trendy coconut oil. All the blogs say to use it, I know. But what they don't say is-" He stopped, blinking in realization. Everyone leaned forward, ever so slightly, and the scattered whispers in the room were silenced in anticipation. "Oh, I'm sorry…"
They watched. Rukia tightened the grip on her backpack strap.
"I completely forgot about peanut oil. That's quite important, too. We mustn't forget…"
Collective sighs scattered throughout the room. Several students muttered things to themselves; others muttered things to their friends.
Rukia squinted, directing a withering glare down at her phone.
She resisted the urge to mutter a curse under her breath. Her afternoon plans had already gone awry, everything delayed.
"And, so you see," the middle-aged man with thinning hair continued, "That's why I always like to keep it on hand. Even if I don't cook, you never know. It can-" He paused to look at his laptop.
Rukia tensed, leaning slightly against the desk and rising just barely out of her seat. Others did the same.
"Oh! Looks like I went over. Sorry, everyone- dismissed."
The switch had been flipped, and the room was a sudden hive of motion as crowds filed towards the two doors. Rukia used her petite size to her advantage, nimbly weaving around students and poorly-placed walkway conversations.
She was going to be late.
"Damn," Rukia muttered. Outside, the campus of Karakura University was spread out before her with mismatched buildings of all different ages and styles. She passed a beige, minimalist building on her left that was from the eighties. Then, a building with decorative spires along the side, of a style from sixty years ago that half-looked like it could take off into space. She passed three different fountains in open courtyards and grassy quads. Students milled about on sidewalks and under the shade of large trees. Her feet thrummed against the ground in hurried steps as she ran past it all, her gait bordering on a full jog. Then, she would remember that she was very much visible to those around her- and that it would attract attention to run, especially if she wasn't being chased. So she slowed to a fast and purposeful walk. She checked her phone again to check the clock- Even if she got to the car in five minutes, there was still travel time, and then the time needed for getting her equipment ready and online.
She opened the messenger app and sent Hanatarou a message that she would have a delayed start. It was just her luck to have a long-winded teacher at the end of the day. She wondered, irritated, just what kind of professor went late on the first day of class. Reviewing the syllabus had taken up a meager twenty minutes. The rest was incoherent rambling that was better suited to a social media account that no one would ever see.
On her left was the main student hall. Then, the auditorium, then the library. The signs hanging above were aged, cracked, and faded from years in the sun. But she knew what the buildings were. Then, she passed down a narrow street, behind the towering science building, to a small crosswalk covered in shadow. She skid to a halt at the street's curb, just in time for a car to fly past, right in front of her. The stop sign there was useless, as she well knew. Then she crossed the street before the next oncoming car could threaten her. Sweat had formed on her brow, and under the straps of her backpack, which cooled her as she walked against the whisper of a spring breeze.
She ducked around another corner and increased her speed. There was a schedule to stay faithful to, after all. It was a point of pride. She was punctual, precise. Reliable and-
Her small form collided with something large with brutal force. Off-balance, she fell backward and flailed in the air, finally landing roughly on her side against coarse concrete. Faint pain echoed through her which was clouded by confusion. She winced with a sharp intake of air- along with a muttered curse.
"Oh. Didn't see you," a deep voice said from far above. Rukia craned her head to see a man with spikey black hair. He loomed tall over her, mild confusion in his expression.
Rukia repressed the scowl that threatened to form. His apathy was apparent enough. She knew she had been careful in her steps, even her hurried movements precise. He must have moved at the last moment to get in her way. Or, he simply decided to stand in the center of the busy sidewalk, as so many students tended to do. She expected someone to set up a picnic blanket in the middle of a crosswalk one day.
But the frustration within her did not matter, could not be allowed in any way. They had gained the attention of some nearby students, and Rukia was all too aware of their phones with cameras and internet access. With a practiced poise, her expression abruptly softened. Dainty, gentle, relaxed.
I am a Respectable Japanese Woman, she told herself. She repeated it again in her mind. Then, she repeated it several times more, just for good measure.
She would not shout, would not yell, would not call attention to the truth of the man's carelessness and lack of empathy for others. No, Rukia could not do those things. For they were not the actions of a Respectable Japanese Woman. And they were not befitting of the Kuchiki name.
"Oh… I'm so sorry," she said airily, an apologetic smile gracing her features. Her gaze went downwards in a show of meekness. "I was simply in a hurry- please, don't mind me!"
Carefully, she started to rise from the pavement as a dull pain could be felt along her arm and leg. It stung, but didn't feel like a broken bone, at the least. Her computer use wouldn't be affected.
"Hey…" The man cocked his head at her, his eyes widening in recognition. "I know you! You're that Kuchiki girl, aren't you? From that company! That adopted girl."
She grit her teeth, both from the pain in her limbs, and the strained smile she forced into place. "Yes, that is right," she gave a curt nod.
"I've heard about you," he smirked. He made no effort to help her as she struggled to her feet. "Where're you off to?"
There was an oily element to his expression and voice that most likely deserved punching. She'd seen his type before and knew the dangers of being around men like that. The danger primarily that she would lose her patience and deliver a kick or punch, actions slightly at odds with the Respectable Japanese Woman.
"Oh, it's hardly important," she even chuckled faintly, lightly. She batted her eyelash. "I really need to-"
"Aw, come on! You goin' anywhere fancy? Is your rich brother around?"
Despite her carefully held smile, her eyes narrowed. "Unfortunately-"
"She doesn't want to tell you," another voice said, annoyed. A man with unruly light brown hair, dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and blue tie, walked over to them with a scowl. He kept his hands in his pockets. "You got that?"
"What's your problem?" the gross man said. "I'm just talkin' with her, that's all."
Rukia stood fully upright by then. She dusted off any lingering dirt with her better arm, mindful of the red scrapes now dotting her left side. Still, she kept her tone bubbly and far too cheerful for the situation- she even managed a light laugh. "Oh, It's fine! I was about to leave. I simply wasn't watching where I was going- I truly apologize!" She gave a brief, curt bow. The light smile never left her face.
"Doesn't look like she's interested in chatting," the brown-haired man said. He stood across from the first man, then, taking a step forward and staring him down with a glare.
"Hey- I was just saying," the first man said.
"No… That's alright," Rukia said, still flippant and airy, hoping she hid the strain of her smile and the stiffness of her shrug. "I'm just leaving!"
The staring contest of wills abruptly ended. The first man shook his head and started to walk away. "Sure. Whatever. I'll see you around, Kuchiki!" he called over his shoulder with a confident wave.
Rukia imagined what it would have looked like if she elbowed him in the stomach.
It was just as well- she was already late as it was, and couldn't afford that kind of pointless delay.
"You okay?" the brown-haired man asked, casually. He appraised her with a detached look.
She nodded with a dainty laugh, as if it were a cute inconvenience. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank yo-"
"You shouldn't let people treat you like that," he said. He didn't even look at her, instead casually glancing to the side. "You can't let people walk all over you. Try speaking up for yourself next time."
The dismissive and judgemental tone in his voice struck a chord in her; Her frustration bubbling up again, indignant. How dare he judge her so easily… They'd only met for seconds, yet he was going to rule on what kind of person she was?
She grit her teeth, not only from the pain of her injuries. Her forced smile was a shadow of what it was before. Her jaw ached.
I am a Respectable Japanese Woman, she told herself.
I am a Respectable Japanese Woman.
I am a Respectable Japanese Woman, dammit.
"…Oh, thank you!" Rukia said with enough sweetness to cause diabetes. Her voice dipped lower, firmer. "I will remember that."
She abruptly turned on her heel and briskly walked away, leaving the brown-haired man blinking in confusion as she disappeared out of sight.
The man's name was Ichigo Kurosaki. And he suddenly remembered that he was running late.
"Dammit." He looked around at the closest buildings to figure out where he was. The old signs were barely legible, making it even harder for him to place himself on the small folded campus map he pulled from his pocket.
Ichigo stopped a passing woman and asked how to find the building labeled '13' on the tiny map. She pointed him to the right, just a couple of streets over, and he all but ran the rest of the way.
Rukia finally made it to the edge of campus. Two blocks outside of that, she sped down the sidewalk to the less traveled road next to the family restaurant and a barbershop. It was hidden away, secluded, making it an ideal place to be picked up without gaining attention. Minamoto-san sat waiting for her in the car, as he always did, dressed nicely in his tailored collared shirt and business slacks. Rukia knew he had probably been waiting several minutes- guilt washed over her, briefly. She would give him extra time off or some other reward to make it up to him.
"I'm… here!" she panted and leaned against a nearby light pole, catching her breath. "I'm sorry. I was delayed."
The middle-aged man merely nodded with an easy smile. "That's quite alright, Miss. I understand." He opened the rear passenger door for her with smooth, practiced ease.
Rukia slid into the back seat and let out a breath. Her muscles relaxed against the plush leather, her breathing evening out. It wouldn't be much longer before she was back at the house. After sending another message to Hanatarou with her ETA, she checked her injuries. The fall had left large, angry scrapes in the skin of her forearm, knee, and calf. It was starting to bleed, and it'd already stained the hem of her white designer skirt.
"Dammit," she muttered. The first day of the semester wasn't shaping up how she planned.
But it wouldn't matter, because within the hour she would be on the internet and not dealing with fools judging her and telling her how to behave.
As soon as she arrived at the house, Rukia almost leaped out of the car and through the door. It was an expensive, modern house that sat in a classy neighborhood filled with old retirees, who spent their days playing Bingo or Go. Rukia sped down the hall, past walls of dark woods offset by clean whites and creams, framed next to large square windows that opened to an absurdly spacious yard. The home was valued at several million dollars.
The size of the house meant that took several minutes for Rukia to reach her room, even cutting through the foyer, the servant's stairs, and the third hallway that was shorter than the others. She jumped into her plush gamer chair that was pink with purple and white trim, booted up her machine and monitors, and grabbed her headset with the plastic bunny ears that jutted out of the top. Her computer was online in seconds thanks to the SSD, and she opened the broadcasting software as she always did.
Rukia Kuchiki was secretly a streamer.
No, this did not mean she frequented crystal-blue brooks running down mountains with rocks kissed with green moss. She did not frolic in shallow creeks as a hobby. (Although she wouldn't be opposed to it, if the opportunity presented itself.)
She was a streamer of a different sort. She started up the current game- an adventure game known as Horror House: Blood Pact- and checked her broadcast settings. She spoke a few words to check her audio levels, confirmed her headphones were getting sound, as usual. Her voice filter program was on and working as intended, which changed her voice ever so slightly as it passed through the computer. The game menu showed up on her broadcast preview screen.
Everything was set. She went to go live with the stream- abruptly stopping when she noticed the live camera image that was projecting her face into a corner of the screen. With a muttered curse, she quickly flipped the feed off. She let out a breath, reminding herself to calm down. A potentially disastrous mistake averted.
Instead, a cartoon-like three-dimensional rabbit appeared in the corner of the screen. It bobbed its head slightly, then mimicked her own movements and expression. Even minor quirks of the brow or the barest of smirks as they registered with her camera. Around the screen, her overlay was filled with light pinks and whites, with her own hand-drawn cutesy cartoon animals featured throughout.
With a final click, she was live.
"Finally," she said. She let out a sigh. "I apologize for starting late. It wasn't my fault. I ran into some idiots on the way here." The viewers started to pour in, the numbers rising on her second monitor which displayed all current stream and chat information. There were already several dozen waiting on her channel. Within minutes, it would be several hundred easily.
She eyed the list of users watching. The names were listed in alphabetical order- but she didn't see the username she expected. Not yet, at least.
But her previous frustrations melted away easily enough, as she watched the game menu. It featured a decaying mansion painted in scarlets and blacks, and something lurked mysteriously in a window with a glowing yellow eye.
"Alright," she said, smirking. "This looks easy enough."
Ichigo managed to make it in time. He arrived at the professor's office exactly one minute before the scheduled meeting, and he let out a sigh in relief as he sat down in a chair near the door. "He'll be ready in a moment!" the teaching assistant said, a short girl with blonde hair named Kiyone.
He allowed himself to pull out his phone- curiously, there was a message on Chappy's server from one of her mods, saying the stream for that day would start later than planned. Ichigo found that strange, knowing how Chappy always made a big deal about being on time. She'd berated enough teammates for being late. He'd have to bug her about it later.
Unfortunately, Ichigo wouldn't be able to watch most of the stream that day. His meeting was only slightly more important, as it would determine how the rest of his life would go.
Ichigo tried not to think about that.
He reached up to tug at his collar, finding it suffocating. The tie didn't help, either.
"Ichigo Kurosaki?" A man's voice called. The professor- a somewhat lanky man with long white hair and dark grey eyebrows - was standing there with a polite smile.
Ichigo raised his hand like he was a child. He felt silly.
The man smiled kindly. "This way, please."
Ichigo entered the office and was stunned to find an excessive (and somewhat concerning) collection of dog and puppy posters adorning every bit of available wall that wasn't claimed by bookcases or a window. There were small porcelain figurines that dotted his desk, an unopened in box action figure that read 'Air Bud' in English letters, stashed away on a shelf, amongst other toys and decor. It appeared harmless overall, if unexpected.
"You… Like dogs?" Ichigo asked with a hard stare. Then he remembered his manners, which were very important for that kind of situation, and that he needed to make a good first impression. He sat up straighter in his chair. "I mean… Professor," he said politely.
"Oh, yes," the professor said distractedly while looking over what appeared to be Ichigo's file. "I'm Professor Ukitake." The man extended a hand in greeting, the smile still on his face. Ichigo shook it with a firm grip- or was it too firm? Would that be seen as aggressive? Dammit-
"Let's look at your file, shall we?" he scanned the pages with a positive look. The man hummed slightly under his breath in a too cheery tone.
Ichigo waited, then waited. The collar still felt tight around his throat. Part of him wondered if the room was unusually warm, or if it felt that way due to nerves. He resisted the urge to tug at his collar and tie. His friend Ishida had emphasized how important it was to look polished. The room was silent other than the professor's idle humming that would have been at home in an office building elevator.
Ichigo tried to look at something mundane to keep calm. One of the puppy figurines was looking at him with beady painted eyes, staring.
He shifted in his seat and averted his gaze.
"Alright," the professor finally said. "It says here you were convicted of a white-collar crime and bank fraud?"
Ichigo nodded and willed himself past the lump that formed in his throat. It always happened when someone brought up 'the incident' directly. He pushed aside the urge to bolt out of the room, a knee-jerk reaction that always came. But he didn't. "…Yeah. But I didn't do it. I was in the wrong place at the-"
"-wrong time," Ukitake finished, the polite smile carefully still in place. "Yes, I understand. Now, it says here that you had a small record before that…" he frowned slightly, and Ichigo grabbed onto the edge of his chair with an iron grip, as if it would help.
Ukitake continued, oblivious. "Some fights, I see… Minor violent offenses, but nothing with weapons, no record of drug use…" He read something again, and his brows went nearly to his hairline. Ichigo felt sick. "Oh, wait!" he peered at Ichigo as recognition flashed across his face. "You were the one in that video, weren't you? The one that had-"
"Yeah," Ichigo grit out, his jaw clenched. He hated that part, too. "That video."
"Oh, but…. I thought you had orange hair? I could barely recognize you-"
"That's the point," Ichigo nearly bit out. His hair, currently a very normal and unassuming shade of light brown, was the result of a salon visit just five days before, and Ichigo was still getting used to it. His own reflection had scared him on more than one occasion, and he nearly destroyed a perfectly good book by throwing it at the mirror that hung in his dorm. It wasn't a bad color, really, but Ichigo never had a problem with his natural hair. With the new look, he had to be obsessive in shaving his face each day since the stubble would be a strange shade of orange. It was a lot of hassle. He hated dying his hair.
Unfortunately, his natural hair was like a large neon sign that directed all attention to him. They'd recognize him from the video. And each time someone asked about the incident, memories would be pulled from his repressed thoughts, fresh like they happened the day before- light striped fabric, trimmed with lace; the floor tiles against his face; His sister, Yuzu, yelling about romance novels-
He took a deep breath, trying with every fiber to appear collected in front of the professor.
"I mean…" Ichigo started again, more polite that time. He cleared his throat. "I didn't want to attract attention, so I dyed it."
"I see. That's understandable, I think- given the circumstances."
Ichigo took another breath, this time focused and calm. He stared at the desk before looking up at the professor with a determined gaze. "I'm tired of dealing with that kind of attention. I just want to be left alone- and I'll leave everyone else alone, too. I don't want to cause any trouble, okay? I'm ready to move on with my life. But I need this chance- I need to be seen as respectable again. My family went through enough with what happened. They deserve someone they can be proud of."
Ukitake gave a warm smile and a slow nod. "That's wonderful to hear, Kurosaki-san! That's just what the Second Chances program is for."
The Second Chances program was a group that sought to give teenagers and young adults, accused of non-violent or minor crimes, a chance for a fresh start. A way to move forward in life without the shadow of a past mistake following them, ruining opportunities at a career. It operated all across Japan and through many different schools and Universities. Not to be confused with a similarly named organization, 2nd Chances, which offered rescue and adoption of puppies and stray dogs.
It was very easy to get the two programs mixed up.
Ordinarily, Karakura University hadn't participated in the program- either of them- but the school was running very low on funds, surprisingly so. The President had encouraged professors to find creative and alternative means of funding. An auction featuring items donated by faculty was tried, one year, but it mostly offered badly made handicrafts and discount coupons for burger shops. They also tried to rent out spaces for local community events and groups, but a group for single moms created an illegal gambling ring. It didn't end well. And it wasn't a good look for the school.
Ichigo watched the man carefully, hope starting to fill him despite his best efforts at being cynical. "So… Am I okay?"
Ukitake nodded and closed the file. "I would say so! You've made it this far, after all. This was merely a courtesy check. I personally vet every member of the program. I have a great judge of character, you see."
"Yeah."
"Now, here's your paperwork with the rules - In case you weren't aware, your behavior will be under strict rules here, even more than your peers. Unfortunately, any questionable behavior- underage drinking, substance abuse, involvement in illegal activity of any kind- will result in you being ejected from the program. Complaints from professors will also jeopardize your place, if the issue is big enough. And your grade average must not fall under three for any longer than a semester. I know it's quite a lot, but I have faith in you!" He gave a friendly, playful punch in the air.
Ichigo stared and wasn't sure what to make of it. "Uh… Thanks."
"Now, no one else on staff will know- I'm the only one with this file, so your secret is safe with me, Kurosaki-san. This will truly be a fresh start for you." He smiled. Ukitake meant it, truly.
Ichigo could feel himself sag with relief. "Thank you, Professor."
"You're very welcome. If you have any questions, you can contact me here, at the office." The older man smiled.
With a nod, Ichigo rose from his seat- ignoring the eyes of the dog figurine that still seemed to stare, following him- and made his way into the hall. As soon as he had several steps between himself and the office, he let out a long breath. Then, he reached up and roughly tugged at his collar, unbuttoning the top button and tugging the tie loose.
As he started the walk back across campus, he pulled out his phone and checked Chappy's stream. She had just started streaming, it looked like. The menu for Horror House: Blood Pact was still up on the screen. She'd mentioned the horror game before. He wasn't surprised- she usually played those when she was happy. The best part was seeing her jump visibly when there was a jump scare she wasn't expecting. That was always funny. He liked to make fun of her for it, too.
He tapped into the chat feed.
Protector15: So. Started the stream late, huh?
The virtual rabbit looked to the side, blinking and smirking for a moment before scowling dramatically at the screen. "Quiet! You're late, Protector. You're not one to talk."
The chat sped along with laughing emojis at his expense. It was always easy to get a rise out of her. Their interactions always drew attention on stream; even causing jokes and memes to be created on her chat server. There was one that had all the funny faces Chappy had made, with the caption 'When Protector15 is in chat'. Ichigo had thought it was funny. Chappy acted like it wasn't, but he knew better.
Protector15: I have a life sometimes
He continued his walk, pausing to look up and gauge his surroundings. The buildings didn't look familiar, and he wasn't sure what direction he was facing. He knew his dorm was on the edge of campus, somewhere. Maybe he could check that map; he'd marked it on there so he wouldn't forget. He looked down and fumbled in his pocket-
There was a loud honk, a screech of tires; yelling somewhere to his left. He froze like an animal caught in sight of prey. A large shape barreled towards him. At the last second, he scrambled out of the way and landed against the rough concrete sidewalk.
The driver leaned out the window to shout, waving an angry fist. Ichigo stared, his heart racing; confusion and shock clouding his thoughts. "What the hell?!"
A quick glance showed a stop sign not far away, next to the crosswalk he'd been standing in. But he didn't know it was the special stop sign on campus, the one near the towering science building, where no one ever, ever stopped.
Ichigo sat upright, catching his breath as he sat next to the curb, and questioned just what kind of school he'd signed up for.