Rukia Kuchiki
While any fair judge would have to acknowledge I did it under considerable duress, I have agreed to being accomplice in a crime, and with that comes the inevitability of accepting that I may have to pay a price for it. This might be legal prosecution or simple loss of face. I sincerely hope it never comes to either of those, for the sake of my family's reputation even more than my own. But for now, it's that I have to go to what the humans call "high school".
The decision was not a difficult one. I justified my absence by reporting that I am following the lead on a particularly hard to catch Hollow; in fact, I have found records of a few that have eluded purification for years in the Karakura Town area and am keeping an eye out for them, and so, I'm not even technically lying about that. In such cases, it is possible for a Shinigami to earn a mission extension of up to 42 days, during which they can remain in the mortal realm and act under cover for the sake of gathering intel. Expenses not refunded, of course. Naturally, my real reason is not to track any Hollow, but rather, to keep the Kurosaki boy under strict surveillance. He is an anomaly, a Whole living in a gigai, and apparently with the potential to turn into a Shinigami. If he fails, he will turn into a Hollow, and I will need to exorcise him right away. The best way for me to guarantee that he won't escape my notice is to follow him as closely as possible and monitor his state of health. At night, that means staying at his house. And during the day, the easiest way is to blend in with the rest of the other young humans at their own version of our Academy they attend every morning. It doesn't teach them to be Shinigami, of course - in fact I'm still not sure what it teaches them. At a cursory glance, it seems tremendously unfocused. But I'm not here to study human customs or whatever foolish motivations they have for them.
I say this, but a certain amount of knowledge of human customs is inevitably needed for me to blend in. A gigai alone is not sufficient (I got my usual one from Urahara, with a few small tweaks to make it look young enough that I don't appear out of place in Ichigo's class). There are even differences between our speech patterns; I've been told by Ichigo that I speak "like a old hag," which by mortal measures I would probably count as. Fortunately, it was not hard to fix that. I have borrowed a large amount of modern texts to study language and mannerisms on from one of Ichigo's sisters, Yuzu. When she saw me for the first time in my temporary body she started acting very friendly towards me, and even said that "girls have to help each other out". I have not corrected her on account of not being a girl in any sense of the word, of course. The help is useful, and I would not want to irritate former Captain Shiba by pointlessly disrespecting his kin. I have spent two days now studying in depth these texts, a mix of dialogue and visual aids that has taught me a great deal about all kind of details of the current human world. I am confident I can perfectly play the part of a contemporary high school student, which to all effects and for everyone, is what I will be for the next month. I decide to naturally position myself as close to Ichigo as possible, so that I can observe him more easily.
So, on my first day of classes, I run through the gates of the school, and once I zero on Ichigo, I dart towards him, a slice of toasted bread carefully held between my teeth, violently slamming his body in a traditional modern Japanese student greeting.
Ichigo Kurosaki
My life (or whatever it is now) has been really weird in the last few days, and Rukia Kuchiki showing at my school and running into me like she's a goddamn shojo manga heroine still manages to make the top ten of the weirdest things that happened yet. I had an inkling Yuzu had sunken her fangs into her and let it happen because I was worried with other stuff, and also because I was a bit curious to see how it would end, so I guess I deserved this. It would even be funny, normally. Or irritating, given how the new and reasonably pretty transfer student has gotten extremely clingy with me from the get go, which is spawning all sorts of rumours and has already earned me a lot of innuendo and envy from Keigo. So, yeah, normally, I would feel something like that. But this isn't normal, and I don't feel anything at all. I can barely think about all of that.
I am in a new body. It is not the one I was born with. This already would be a disturbing thought, but what makes it more disturbing is that it mostly doesn't feel fake, except when it suddenly does. It's perfect, it looks human in every way. My skin is fine, everything works as intended, it's uncanny. And then I realise that maybe that one wrist that always clicked a bit after I punched an asshole in the jaw really hard now doesn't do that any more. It's too perfect, and that's what makes it just so damn creepy. I'm not missing the feelings themselves, who the fuck likes clicky joints. But the fact that they're not there keeps reminding me this is not my real body, and that makes me feel like I'm all a fake, some sort of body snatcher alien thing walking amidst my poor, unaware classmates. It's a stupid feeling, and I know it. It'll probably go away. Maybe this fake body will also get wear and tear with time. I'm sure my dad must have gotten over it eventually, though in his case he never had a real body. Or did he?
"Hey, Kuchiki."
She's always buzzing around me now. And her new perky schoolgirl persona means she has to look very responsive and friendly, which frankly coming from her just freaks me out.
"What is it, Kurosaki?," she asks, with a smile. Someone's already looking our way, guess they're expecting some juicy gossip-worthy moment to happen. Sorry to disappoint you guys, this is just me trying to learn the secrets of the afterlife.
"Are you Shinigami guys all human souls who passed? Or are some of you, like, born Shinigami?"
She seems taken aback and drops a bit the excessive cheerfulness. "Didn't you talk about this stuff with your father?"
"Not really, no."
The old man is a fucking dork. You ever try to pin him to answering a difficult question, he immediately weasels his way out of it by acting like a buffoon. Which usually means that he thinks the answer would be painful either for me to hear, or for him to say out loud. Or both. But I don't have time for his bullshit, right now.
"Just tell me," I insist.
Rukia leans in a bit and hushes her voice, to avoid being overheard, even though her words would make no sense to anyone in class anyway. "No one is born in Soul Society. Souls come into existence as humans, and then pass on. Some of them become Shinigami."
"Huh, so you were a human, a long time ago?" It's hard to believe, but maybe her oddity is just because she's from the Sengoku period or something. She certainly acts like it. "Were you still called Rukia Kuchiki back then?"
"I don't remember my human name," she snaps back. "It's not important. Kuchiki is the name of my Shinigami family; it is a noble clan that has adopted me as its heir, and which I wish to make proud."
"Wait, you don't remember? What, you hit your head or something?"
"Don't be a fool. Do you remember the time you spent in your mother's womb?"
No, I guess one wouldn't. "So is this a common thing among Shinigami?"
"Very few remember anything at all of their mortal life. If they do, they don't talk about it. You don't become a Shinigami right after passing on, after all; it takes a long time for a soul to mature to that point."
"You don't think I can make it in just one month, do you?"
"It would be a first. But I had never heard of any children of Shinigami and humans, so nothing is guaranteed."
She's being a bit careful with her words with me too, now, but that's probably because of dad. Her eyes have still a glint of smugness, because of course she's actually thinking, not a snowball's chance in Hell. She plans to just reap me at the end of this month, nice and easy. I'm not about to let her, if only to not give her this satisfaction, but the problem is, I don't even know where to start from.
You can not find the power in itself. What you must find is the reason for the power.
And that sort of cryptic philosophical sounding bullshit is exactly the type of line I'd expect that sandal-and-hat guy to drop on-
Ok, wait a second, what? I didn't think that, but also, I am sure no one said it either. Is Rukia telepathic? But that sort of phrase really doesn't fit her style. And it sounded like a deep, male voice - if only I could hear it again, maybe I could recognise it. I'm talking to you, mysterious head voice, if you have anything else to say, say it now!
Nothing happens, of course. Urahara left me a phone number though, maybe I should give him a call and talk to him about this. He's supposedly the most knowledgeable in this stuff.
"Well, see ya, Kuchiki." I give her the slip and make a run for it, so I can walk out of the classroom right before the teacher comes in and she'll be locked inside. Skipping a lesson isn't my biggest worry right now. As I stride through the desks, no one gives a shit, except for one guy, who looks at me judgmentally.
"What the hell's your problem?," I bark in his direction, and he looks away, adjusting his glasses.
Hopefully he won't snitch with the teacher, but either way, who cares. I don't care about the teacher, and I certainly I don't care about this guy whose name I don't even remember for sure. I think it was Uryuu or something.
Rukia Kuchiki
I never had that high an opinion of humans; their short life span means they barely have had any time to develop beyond the level of toddlers, and they're desperately unskilled and unfocused in what they do. But I never realised just how obnoxiously stupid the children of these children could be. A single day spent at "school" really gave me as dreary and unforgiving a look as possible, and deprived me of any illusions about them. Hyperactive, self-centred, entirely existing within the confines of a tiny personal circle that they treat as the single most important piece of the universe. Surprisingly, I find myself thinking, Ichigo Kurosaki may be one of the most level-headed, reasonable representatives of his age class. Many of the rest seem perpetually involved in some mix of elaborate and entirely pointless social posturing and various desperate attempts to come to grips with or satisfy their violent hormonal urges.
I mostly go through the day by smiling and chuckling. By the end of it, two girls seem to consider me a potential best friend, and one boy has tried to drag me behind the school to propose. I politely but firmly turned him down before it even got to that stage, of course. I also am fairly certain I have learned nothing of use. If this is what humans spend their youth doing, it is no wonder they are still so slow once grown.
Still, my job is to protect these frail and rather dull creatures, as that is part of the cosmic balance, and a Shinigami's pride; and thus, what brings the greatest honour to my clan. I've kept an eye on my alarm all morning, even shamefully hoping for it to ring and give me a chance to subtract myself to the tedium, but it never has. But as soon as I step out of the fence, it goes off. No one else hears it, except for Ichigo, who looks at me interrogatively.
"Not your business, Kurosaki," I simply say, turning away. "Go back home, I'll see you there."
I am staying at his place, obviously; my surveillance duties require it. He does not enjoy this fact. I try to bring it up as often as possible.
While he walks off, I find a quiet corner in an alley, lift a manhole cover, and discreetly and elegantly dive in. One moment later, as my gigai now lies inert and fairly safe inside a sewer, I jump out in my soul form, free from the inconvenient shackles of artificial flesh. No one should find my body there. There's a risk that rats might nibble the extremities a bit, but Urahara can fix that kind of thing easily. It being found by a human would be a much bigger pain, and until Urahara finds me some soul candy, I have no alternative to this. I run off in the direction the alarm indicates the Hollow should be, flash stepping from roof to roof, so that in a matter of seconds I catch sight of the creature. It is a fairly unremarkable type, another newborn with no experience or strength to speak of. A spidery beast, low on its eight legs, tongue darting out of its mask now and then as it approaches the Whole spirit of a child who seems to have stuck around a small public playground. The child is screaming and running, his Chain of Fate swinging as he tries to escape the clearly faster monster on his trail. I take the measure of it, unsheathe my sword. By all means, I should be able to land precisely enough to stab it right in the middle of the eyes just before it gets to pounce its prey. I align the blade in the right direction, and prepare to strike.
There's a brilliant, azure flash. What looks like a beam of blue light pierces the Hollow's head from side to side, and the creature stops, frozen in its step. Then it lets out a horrible wail, and vanishes in thin air, and I can feel a sense of vacuum, a ripple in the fabric of the universe exploding right from its position. Where I felt its presence one second ago there is nothing any more. Not just no presence, there is a nothing, for a single instant, and then reality squeezes itself into the gap and fills the void, and the feeling is gone.
I land where the Hollow was supposed to be and immediately turn to the right, to the direction the light has come from. There is a human, there, walking towards me, very intentionally. I feel like I must have seen his face somewhere.
"Kuchiki, the transfer student," he says, standing defiantly, and now that he's closer, I recognise him.
"Ishida Uryuu. You're in my class."
"How observant. Yes, that's my name," he says. He smiles wryly. "To think that someone like you would just show up at school. I've overheard you talking with Kurosaki, and it sounds like he's involved too, somehow, though I can't figure out how. But I couldn't believe my luck. A real, living Shinigami."
"What did you do to that Hollow?," I ask.
"What your kind should do. I hope you won't mind if we humans sometimes take matters in our hands. Just kidding - I know you do."
I remember learning something like this at the Academy. A small footnote of Shinigami history, really. One that usually wouldn't bear mentioning, and that I'm sure many of my colleagues wouldn't have ever bothered learning. Not me, though. "You are a Quincy," I say.
"Well, I'm honoured," he says, with a little, sarcastic bow. "And I am here to challenge you. You see, Kuchiki, I absolutely hate Shi-"
He doesn't get to finish the sentence before the kidou beam blows his brains out, just like it did with Ichigo. I'm not sure what the boy thought he was doing, introducing himself that way, but the terms of the truce with whatever is left of the Quincy clan are very clear; they are not to take independent action against Hollows, on pain of death. Well, that is one more duty absolved, albeit a slightly unconventional one. I sheathe my sword back and turn it in my hand, walking speedily towards the still disoriented soul of the boy. The base of the hilt glows. I don't give him the time to say anything before I slam it on his forehead, completing the Soul Burial ritual and sending him on his way to Soul Society; I have my hands full enough with one human soul clinging to this world beyond all reason.
Ichigo Kurosaki
The phone call with sandal-and-hat was supremely unhelpful. I told him what had happened, I described him the voice, and all he said was that I have "taken the first step," and then smirked. It was over the phone and I still could tell he was smirking. That's just how powerful that guy's smirking energy is. I wanted to simply punch his face, but being unable to do so, I settled for hanging up on him. Then I decided to go back home, because at that point it would have just been weird if I walked back into the lesson again, and also because I just didn't feel like studying.
And so, just as I walk into my home, I experience my first corrosion.
I have been warned this would happen. In fact, I expected it; it's been three days now, it was overdue. I've also been extensively warned that it would be painful. The attempts at description I received included: being stabbed with a hot poker and having it twisted inside the wound, being drawn and quartered while still alive for the full process, and a pain so intense and utterly mind-numbing delivered straight to one's soul, it's not even worth comparing it to anything else that can be felt by a mere body.
Yet somehow, it manages to be worse than all of that put together.
I fall to my feet screaming and claw the floor. Yuzu runs to me alarmed, someone else comes, guess it's dad because now he's shushing her away and I'm being lifted but I don't know, I don't care, I can't tell, so much pain. Everywhere, and it gets worse, it gets worse with every second. I'm dying, I'm sure, I must be dying, this is what every instinct tells me even though I'm already dead. I scream and scream, and I kick the air and I'm fairly sure I hit my head hard against a door frame while flailing around and somehow the pain of that is a relief, it's like it displaces the other pain for that one second in which I can feel the familiar, innocuous feeling of my brain wobbling around in my skull from a mere hit, and in fact I decide to seek it, I try hitting my head against something again, dad stops me, forces me on the clinic's bed, ties me with straps, what are you doing, dad, it's just a fucking gigai!, let me break it if I want, and then maybe the pain will be over. If only. If only it was so simple. This pain runs deep into my soul, and it will not cease unless I, myself, stop existing, unless I disappear entirely and dissolve and there will be no more Ichigo Kurosaki, no more thinking and no more being, and for a moment there, for a moment that looks like such a sweet prospect, but I can't do it.
The pain goes deeper. It's not even just physical, assaulting every single perception my consciousness has at once, without even having to go through my nerves to do it. It's every possible form of suffering at once. It's fear, black, absolute, of an overwhelming, threatening, unavoidable something that is surely coming for me. It's loneliness like I'm the last fucking human being ever fired in a sealed capsule into intergalactic space, millions of light years away from the warmth of the closest star. It's sadness and heartbreak and it's a bitter well of raw undiluted anger and it's the wish to eat my own sisters' heart out and the inescapable shame of even wanting to do something like that, all of this together, coming in waves to completely overtake me, all while my body experiences the deepest possible agony. I can't faint. I can't die. I can't escape. I can only suffer.
Then, when it's eight and forever PM, it finally ends.
"That bad, huh?," asks my dad, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
I gasp, open my mouth, lack for words. How can I even describe any of that? I can't even remember it right any more. The memory itself is just the palest image of it. You can only feel it.
"Worse," I manage to say, and my voice is all raspy and hoarse.
He nods and keeps me company, in silence. It takes a while for my muscles to recover from my spasms. I've also hurt myself in multiple spots with my convulsions, I can feel the bruises on my arms and legs. And I've also hurt my dad, though he plays it cool. Any other day, I've probably consider what I'm feeling right now as a decent amount of pain. Today, I'd call it bliss. When I can finally speak longer sentences again, there is one thing that I need to ask.
"If I went to Soul Society, could I go see mom?"
He raises his eyebrows, then sighs, slaps his legs, and pulls himself up from his stool.
"Dad, don't you fucking dare," I manage to hiss.
"I'm not running away," he says. "But for this conversation, I need a smoke. Do you mind?"
I don't object, which is as good a form of assent as I can muster right now. He doesn't smoke, usually. He only smokes once a year, in front of mom's grave. On the anniversary. So this is a bit unusual, but I guess it makes sense. Same topic, after all. And neither of us has to worry about his lung health any more. We both can just get new ones for sale from Urahara at reasonable prices if it comes to that.
He's got his lit cigarette and sits back next to me. He puffs away some smoke, thoughtful.
"The thing you must understand about Soul Society, Ichigo, is that it's really, really big. How many people do you think have died since the beginning of time?"
"I don't know. A lot? Like, twenty, thirty billions?"
"Current estimates are around one hundred billions," he corrects me. "Well, that's worldwide. In Japan it's a lot less, but that's still a lot of people."
"What's Japan got to do with it?"
"When we talk about Soul Society, we mean the afterlife for the Japanese archipelago. It's not a national boundary thing, more of a geography thing. It's sort of separated for the others - look, don't ask, I'm not the biggest expert in this stuff. Urahara is the person to talk with if you're interested in nerdy details. Point is, it's a really big place, with a really large bunch of people in it, and nothing like our modern infrastructure."
I have a terrible, cold, sinking feeling. "And so you can't find people easily."
He nods. Oh, god damn it. "Some look. For a while. Some, very few, are even lucky enough to succeed. But most end up giving up, and then forgetting. It's a lot of people, and it's a long time."
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!," I scream. "That's it? You die, and you never see anyone else ever again? You forget? Rukia said that everyone in Soul Society was a human once - dad, when were you alive the first time? Do you remember your wife? Your children from back then?"
And he looks away. He fucking looks away.
"I'm sorry, Ichigo," he says. "It is how it is. I have vague recollections, but - no, I don't remember any more. It's a strange thing, how life on Earth sort of vanishes after enough years in Soul Society. It's not just time. Souls work differently without a brain."
"I guess life must be really fun there, for you to forget so quickly."
"That's not it either. It's not a great place. It's pretty dreary, actually."
Well, please, drop more good news on me. "You're not saying all of this to stop me from just passing on, right?"
Because that's why I asked in the first place, after all. The recent experience has mellowed me out quite a bit. I was very determined to hold on as long as it takes for me to at least try becoming a Shinigami, but that also means that I'll have to go through that pain again. And I really don't want that. Passing on, seeing mom again, then getting reunited with everyone else too after a hundred years at most, in all of eternity, suddenly didn't feel like such a terrible option.
"I'm not making it up," he says. "But of course I'm saying it to stop you from passing on. It's why I will not allow you to pass on."
I lie back. I just don't have the strength for this right now. Either risk never seeing my family or my friends ever again, or going through that pain a few more times. If you don't get why that's actually a tough choice, it's because you've never experienced it.
Is this why you want the power? To avoid suffering?
I don't think that's it, mysterious inner voice, no. But it sure would be a sweet fucking bonus.
Rukia Kuchiki
The day after, school is an unusual experience. This, I realise shortly after arriving, is because of my actions - though I avoid bringing this matter up, of course.
It is the first time I have a chance to personally and closely witness how humans deal with the death of one of their own.
It is a somewhat undignified and pathetic spectacle, though I expect the fact that these are mostly young humans plays a part. Apparently, the body of that Ishida boy I killed yesterday was discovered soon after by a passer by, the family was notified, and now everyone knows. It seems like it has become quite a big deal. To be sure, I assumed my kidou should make his death look not too dissimilar from the effect of those crude 'firearms' of theirs. I thought that would be enough to make the matter not especially notable, since humans seem to kill each other all the time; but apparently, it's not that common for a human of this age to die violently in this town, and so there is now a lot of speculation and excitement surrounding the episode.
The teacher walks in at the beginning of the day with an extremely sombre expression. The news have already been making the rounds, of course, but until then they remain just unconfirmed rumours. The newspapers haven't disclosed the name of the victim yet, after all, and so the only ones who know are a few busybodies who learned about it through their personal circle of friends or relatives, it seems. They are quick to put themselves in the spotlight by spreading this information far and wide, clearly basking in their special role, however short lived and built on tragedy. The others' reactions are equally puzzling; many appear incredulous, suspecting that these informers have been lying to draw attention to themselves. This is a reasonable worry, but they also seem to be in straight up denial about the possibility of something like this truly having happened to one of their classmates. As if death was something that simply can only happen to others, to unknown figures outside of their personal circle, and they could reliably hang onto such a rule of the universe.
Then the official news are broken by the teacher, after a long winded introduction, and chaos breaks loose. Some people shout that it can't be, some very visibly cry. During all of yesterday, I am sure I had not seen Ishida get up from his desk or exchange a single word with anyone else, so I do not know how would anyone be so close as to warrant such reactions. Interestingly, not everyone partakes in these displays, though. There is one notable exception.
"You are taking this well, Kurosaki," I say, accosting my chair to his. We're already desk neighbours, so it's hardly difficult.
"Don't be stupid," he scoffs. "I know for you the death of a human is no big deal, but for us it's not that simple. I was pretty shocked to hear about this. But I didn't really know him, so it's hard to feel like it's real, I guess."
There's a sullen expression on his face. He does not look unperturbed. "I even snapped at him yesterday. Last time I ever talked to him."
"He's in Soul Society, now," I reassure him. "I'm sure he will not mind."
"He is, huh? How would you know?"
"Why, I performed the ritual myself."
"Huh." He's uncertain; he looks at me like he's trying to say something much more complicated, but in the end settles for a basic answer. "Well, thank you, I guess. At least he won't turn into a Hollow."
"I was merely performing my duty. You know, I do appreciate that you are somewhat less foolish than your fellow humans. At least you are rational enough to admit that his death didn't really touch you. Most of these people act like they're shaken when they probably knew him just as much as you, or less."
The compliment slips out of me thoughtlessly, and I quickly regret it. Perhaps I shouldn't encourage the boy too much; who knows whether he might actually become a Shinigami. He maybe wouldn't even make such a terrible one, with a few hundred years of training. But of course, right now, it would just make my problems a lot more complicated if he did.
More importantly, he doesn't seem to take it as a compliment at all. He gets quite excited, in fact.
"You really don't understand a damn thing, Kuchiki," he spits. "It doesn't matter if they knew him or not. It's just - you can't just stay calm after death has hit so close to you! Like, what if a Hollow swung its claw so close you felt like it could have almost decapitated you?"
"I would never be so foolish as to let it come that close," I rebut, "but regardless, there is no comparison. The dissolution of the soul is an eternal loss. Our mourning for our lost companions is a pain you can not even begin to understand. Mortal death is just a passing."
"Well, they don't know that, do they?"
The observation takes me aback. Do they? In Shinigami academy, I remember studying about human customs around death. Most people sleep through or skip those lessons entirely as useless, but I pride myself in never having done that. But what I remember is that humans have built complex rituals and beliefs around their deaths. While they do not know about Soul Society, we were reassured that virtually no human believes their soul dissolves on death. We were also taught about some specifics of these faiths so that we could best interact with any souls who happened to suffer major cognitive dissonance upon finding out that their beliefs were false after death. That said, for most of us in those cases the best option is just to perform a quick Soul Burial, and the Academy itself advocates that as the safest way to deal with it.
"I guess they don't know for sure," I concede, with a shrug.
Ichigo grunts and nods.
"For what it matters, I'm sorry that you lost people too," he begrudgingly says. "I can at least acknowledge that the death of the soul is even worse. But that doesn't mean the death of the body is nothing."
"I'm glad you can see that much," I reply. I do really feel relieved at that. I have to spend almost a month with this boy. Having gotten a sense of what his peers are like, I seriously think that I might have been a lot less lucky. "You are able to think clearly, after all. I guess I don't need to keep it from you."
He raises his eyebrows. "Keep from me what?"
"That I am the one who killed Ishida, of course," I reply. "He was a Quincy, a human who destroys the souls of other humans who turned into Hollows. He probably murdered dozens before I managed to stop him. Surely you can appreciate-"
He's not looking at me like I expected. Forget what I said about him being a clear thinker. A stupid, stupid delusion I let myself slide into. I don't know what got into me, to lower my guard that way. He stood up and is now staring at me with blood-injected eyes, cheeks flushed with anger, breathing rapidly, like the next thing I say is going to decide whether he's going to clobber me or not. Such a human way of reacting, after all.
I draw from my learned mannerisms and enact a typical human apology pose. I stick out my tongue, slightly incline my head to one side, and knock on it with a closed fist.
"Tee-hee, my bad, I guess...?," I try saying, cheerfully.
The punch hits me square on the nose and sends me flying against a desk.
Ichigo Kurosaki
I realise what I'm doing is a really dumb idea approximately when my knuckles are about two centimetres away from her stupid face, but by that point, it's too late. The hit lands fully and sends Rukia crashing with an infernal noise that would draw the whole class's attention even if it wasn't already all focused on us. There are a few seconds of stunned silence while I'm still there, slowly regaining my composure and letting it sink in how completely I've just screwed whatever remains of my social life at school. Rukia lays on the floor with a surprised expression and no real sign of being hurt or in pain; then, as if suddenly remembering what she has to do, she lets out a small, cute yelp, and starts picking herself up.
Everyone is staring at us either worried or scared, and at first no one dares doing or saying a thing. Before this short moment of surprise ends, I look around with what surely must seem a pretty threatening scowl, then quickly leave the classroom before anyone can stop me.
I am so fucking angry.
Not just with Rukia either, though sure, I am fucking angry with her too. She killed our classmate. She killed our classmate! Of all the insane, unhinged things I could imagine her doing, this was not in the top ten I expected. It wasn't even on the list. I know she killed me already, but hard as it is to admit it, she did it because I was about to die anyway, and the alternative was even worse. This was just - what? Extemporaneous murder? An impromptu execution? Did she even try to talk with him, to tell him to stop doing whatever he was doing, or just go in for the kill? I suppose studying on Yuzu's texts has taught her all about how to deal with heart-throbbing confessions and handsome guys who slam you against the wall, less about how to exist in human society. Such as, not killing people.
But then again, I am also angry at myself. Because let's face it, this was my fault. She's like a damn alien, I should not and could not have counted on her ability to not do anything - well, anything exactly like this. I could have done something else. I could have insisted to accompany her wherever. I could have stopped going to school until I turn into either a Shinigami or a Hollow. I just didn't want to. And now one of our classmates is dead and I might as well have killed him, and imagine having to go to his parents, that I don't even know, and just telling them.
Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Ishida, my name's Ichigo, I'm a classmate of your late son. Also the cause of his death by negligence. Tee-hee, my bad.
When I stormed out of the classroom I didn't have a precise place in mind, I just wanted to get somewhere else, before people recovered from the shock and started chewing me out and other teachers were called and it all turned into one big and extremely ironic lesson about how bad it is to use violence on a classmate. So now I'm on the roof, grabbing the high metallic netted fence that surrounds it on all sides, and looking at the city below, fuming, and waiting away the few minutes before someone inevitably finds me and gives me an earful.
"Hey, Ichigo. The fuck?"
I recognise the voice. She's one of the few true friends I have at this school, after all. Honestly, what she might think of me after this was one of my first worries.
"Yo, Tatsuki. How's it going?"
She's not alone. She comes out of the metallic door followed by another girl - a friend of hers, Orihime Inoue. A pretty girl with long auburn hair who is kind of the diametric opposite of Tatsuki. Where Tatsuki is a bit of a tomboy, Orihime is pretty, well, feminine. That said, I only know her by name and little more, really, so I'm not sure what she's doing here, and from the look of it, she doesn't either. She's sort of hiding behind Tatsuki, grabbing her for safety, but still walks forward together with her friend.
"Don't give me that," Tatsuki is straight to the point. "What the hell was that about?"
Hard to give a straight answer right away. "Too long to explain. The teachers will be here any minute."
"Not after someone told them that you ran out of the main gates," she replies. "It'll take a while before they catch on."
"Really."
"Don't think I'm not going to rat you out if you don't give me a good explanation, though." She's as straightforward as ever - that's why we get along so well, after all. "And my friend here insisted on coming along-"
Orihime barely squeals a timid hello!, then goes back to her cautious silence and guarded stance.
"-so you gotta convince me you're not some woman-beating monster before I run out of patience."
"You know, Tatsuki, I did beat you up sometimes..."
"I wasn't talking about sparring, you idiot. And I beat you up far more anyway. Come on, spit it out. What did Kuchiki ever do to you? You looked all buddy-buddy if anything."
I sigh and sit down, slouching against the metallic net. It's not that I don't want to talk. Fuck, I want nothing more than that at this point. I have so much I want to take off my chest. It's just that, how do I even go about explaining all this in a way that doesn't make me sound insane? Or worse, put them in danger? I don't even know what could that crazy Shinigami do for the sake of preserving her secrets.
"I just got pissed. She said stuff about Ishida."
Tatsuki softens a bit. "The guy who died? I didn't know you were friends."
"We weren't. That's not it. It's just... Kuchiki is..." I struggle to find a good lie, one that's close enough to reality to at least convey the point well enough. "She's got these weird religious beliefs. Basically, she was all like, oh, it's not like it matters if he died. Really, he's just going to have a swell life that's much better than this one. And he's going to forget all about this one anyway. So, who cares. Something like that."
"Wow." Tatsuki is a bit taken aback. "Ok, that's pretty shitty. What religion even is that? Sounds like one of those creepy cults."
"I don't know. Doesn't really make it better that I hit her. I just lost my temper."
"Ah, but... is that really so bad?"
Both I and Tatsuki turn to look at Orihime, who spoke softly and almost immediately seems to shrink away. Tatsuki's puzzled, but then immediately turns to me with a scowl that means very clearly, don't you fucking dare, to which I reply with a scandalised look that says, what are you taking me for, some kind of ogre?
"What do you mean, Orihime?," her friend asks. "I get that you have to be respectful of other people's faith, but-"
"Ah, I, I meant something else," she stammers. Then she gains some courage and speaks up a bit louder. "It's just that, you know, when my brother died, I started thinking that maybe he was still around. Like, it felt like he was around. And I imagined he would just be around the house, and look after me, and worry about me, and maybe sometimes help me, or make me find the keys that I had lost-"
Tatsuki rolls her eyes at this.
"But it is true!," protests Orihime. "I really looked for them, they couldn't possibly have been on the kitchen table, they just appeared out of nowhere, I swear!"
The funny thing is, while Tatsuki's still disbelieving and teasing Orihime about it, I have to wonder if that's an actual possibility. I can't move material objects as a Whole, but then again, I know it should be possible to touch stuff. So maybe, if someone spent years in this realm as a ghost without turning into a Hollow, that could even happen. But could you even go for that long, if the average time is one month?
"Anyway, the thing is, at one point I realised, that that felt, well..." she twirls her hair with one finger, looking a bit away in embarrassment. "...very lonely."
"But he would have you, would he not?"
"Yes, but he would be stuck with me. I could pray to his shrine but I could not see him, and I could not hear him, and he would not have friends, or go to watch a movie with them, or, or get a girlfriend, and, you know..."
She blushes. I think I got her meaning though.
"So what you mean is, it would be better if he could just move on, right?," I continue for her. "Even if it meant just forgetting everything. At least he wouldn't be hanging to his old life, since he couldn't go back to it anyway, not really."
Orihime nods. "So I tried to be happier. I met Tatsuki and we became friends, and I tried to do my best to just have fun and smile, to show him that I was okay, he did not have to worry, and he could just move on, and be happy himself, if he can."
I had not really thought about it this way. But then again, what I can't tell her - really can't, because that would just be evil at this point - is that from what little I've heard of the Soul Society, it doesn't even seem that happy of a place. This whole thing is all kinds of fucked up.
"I get you," is all I can say. "I still think it would be better if one could have both. You know, maybe just moving on, then reuniting with your friends and family in due time and have fun together again, like in the old times. But I get you."
"Ah, uhm, sure, that would be good," she says, and then we just all sit there together in this big awkward silence.
I have a strange feeling. Like a tingling in the back of my head, or a breeze somehow blowing straight on my soul, after passing through clothes and skin alike. I'm not sure what it is, except that it's probably some ghost thing. It seems to come from a distant corner of the terrace, but when I look there, I don't see anything, and quickly turn to the two girls.
"Well, I'm glad that was cleared," says Tatsuki, getting up. "Mind you, you're still gonna get chewed out hard by everyone for that."
"I'm well aware of it."
"Have fun during your suspension. I'll come visit and bring oranges to your home." She grins like she's actually having fun with this. "But at least I know you're not a total asshole. You know, if I go and feed them some more bullshit maybe I can still keep them off your back for a little while. I'll leave you here with Orihime."
With Orihime? We'd never even talked before today. "What? Why are you-"
"If I find you made her cry, I'll punch your head off your shoulders," she hisses, meaning every word.
I'm just stumped. "Why would I make her cry? I told you, I don't just go hitting any-"
"Just a friendly reminder. Back in a few minutes."
She darts off suspiciously quickly, and I'm left alone with her friend, who's now fidgeting and looking away. Well, it's not going to get any less awkward if I don't do anything about it.
"So, why'd you even come along with Tatsuki on this little mission?," I ask her, and as usual for me, it comes off sounding a bit more brusque than I'd wish it to. "It's not like we know each other. Did you want to protect her from the mean orange-haired delinquent?"
"You're not a delinquent, Kurosaki!," she protests, more vigorously than if I'd accused her of being one. "I think you're actually a really kind person, you know."
I'm just surprised at that. "You don't really know me. And you just saw me punching a girl."
"It's just - I think you just are. You feel like that, and so I thought it was weird that you hit Kuchiki that way, and that there must have been some reason, and maybe you had some problem and, ah-"
She starts stumbling on her words, and getting tongue tied, and blushing. I guess she's just not that great with people, maybe? This girl is cute and nice and all, but she looks a bit hopeless at times. Though I'm not sure what to say either at this point, it's like her embarrassment is infectious. Well, and I just don't do well with compliments.
"That's nice of you," I say, finally. "Though I don't know what makes me feel kind, as you say. Usually people see me always scowling and assume the opposite."
"Sometimes you look scary, but I think you're just serious," she replies, with the surety of someone who's spent a lot of time observing me. "And that's - that's - that's why I -"
She's stuttering and blushing hard. Her face is as bright as red-hot metal, at this point. I swear, we're about to have a full blown Orihime reactor meltdown here.
Wait, is this-?
There's no time for me to complete that thought or really elaborate what it means for me and my now very muddled emotions, though. Because at this point the feeling I had some minutes ago shows up again, and intensifies to a ludicrous degree. The tingling becomes skin-crawling shivers; the breeze, an icy blizzard freezing me to the core. The sensations are overwhelming and terrifying, an echo of what I felt yesterday evening when I experienced the corrosion. And at the same time, an ear-piercing, ghastly shriek fills the air, and Orihime seems to hear it too, because suddenly her eyes get wide and her flushed face loses all colour.
Then the masked, hungry thing jumps from just below the edge of the building, maw open, swiping its claws towards us.
Rukia Kuchiki
Having been punched did not especially hurt; I keep the relevant setting of my gigai always at a minimum, so that I may be aware of any damage I'm suffering without it hampering my reaction. Nevertheless, I need to pretend as much, for the sake of keeping my cover. Also, it helps making the cost of Ichigo's stupid, public mistake all the more steep, which only plays in my favour. I want him to have as little reason to hang onto this world as possible if my temporary stay is to end quickly and without incident. Though I would lie to myself if I denied taking also a bit of personal pleasure in it.
"Kuchiki, are you fine? Can you count these fingers? How many there are?"
I recall that head trauma in humans causes confusion, cognitive impairment, and double vision. "Twenty-thirteen."
"Prof! Kuchiki's speaking nonsense!"
"Hang in there, Kuchiki! We'll get you some water!"
"Don't move her, stupid! Don't you know you're not supposed to-"
"Here's a glass of water-"
"Do you need to undo your uniform's buttons-"
"We're calling an ambulance-"
I perk up at the last statement. An ambulance, as I understand, carries human medical personnel. And gigais, while indistinguishable from real human bodies on the outside, are liable to be identified as anomalous if subject to a number of medical diagnostic procedures. I immediately drop my dazed act and jump back on my feet so quickly that many of my classmates are startled, and a few jump forward to catch me, expecting me to immediately lose my balance.
"Actually, I don't feel so bad," I say. "I'm all better."
The guy who was ready to call an ambulance remains kind of unsure, his hand still lifted up with his phone in it. I look at him and say, very slowly, "No need for an ambulance."
He nods and seems to finally agree, albeit hesitantly. He puts the phone back.
At this point, a different explosion of sympathy erupts from the class - not about my state of health any more, but rather, about the indignity that I have been subjected to.
"But what the hell was Kurosaki's problem!," exclaims someone. "To punch a girl like that!"
I shake my head and sigh deeply. "Who knows. He seems to have snapped out of nowhere. I feel like that boy must have some serious issues."
Which prompts a wave of reassurances and compliments for my inclination to forgiveness, empathy and understanding - together with some legitimate doubts that Ichigo is even deserving of them. I agree with these, by the way: he is not.
A few minutes of this routine pass, with the teacher trying in vain to restore order and finally begin the lesson in a class that has far exceeded its ability to set aside excitement and go back to hitting the books, when my Hollow alarm sounds. No one else hears it, obviously, but to me it's blaring and urgent; the sign of a Hollow that's either very powerful, or very close. I mutter a half excuse about having to go to the bathroom and dart out of the classroom, quickly pulling out the phone to check the map. I was right; it is close. In fact, it is at the top of this very building. I rush up the stairs, since if I'll have to ditch my gigai I'd rather do it on the roof terrace at this point, where it's less likely to be spotted, and if the attack is ongoing as I suspect, there might already be other bodies lying around anyway. And a quick moment of concentration reveals to me that Ichigo is one of the two spiritual energies to be found up there. What is up with that boy and Hollows? Does he enjoy having to be saved from them? Then again, with his unusual spirit capabilities, I suppose he will appear quite the delicious treat to them.
I slam the door open, roll on the floor and press my glove against my own forehead in doing so; what finishes the tumble is just my empty body, and my spiritual one is now out and ready for action. I plunge towards the masked monstrosity, sword ready for the swing, from its blind angle. It will be over in a single hit.
"Kuchiki, stop!"
Ichigo runs and grabs me, tossing me to the side and making me miss the strike. The Hollow turns around to look at us. The element of surprise is lost, and I'm on the ground, pinned down by this inexplicable moron.
All in all, perhaps I should have let the boy be eaten the other night. A slight blemish on my service record, but nothing nearly as bad as having to suffer through all of this.
Ichigo Kurosaki
When the spiritual energy from the creature washes over me, for an instant, I have a vision.
The vision is two memories blended together.
I'm at home, and there's a ruckus outside my room; my dad shouts, calls for help, and a metallic stretcher grinds against the floor, pushed in a desperate rush towards our clinic's limited surgical facilities. It's an emergency. It's someone who's been gravely wounded and is risking their life. This is the day Orihime's brother died.
But I'm not twelve years old, as I should be. I'm barely four, and huddled in my room, scared by all the ruckus, forcing myself to stay out of the way because I know I'll just be a nuisance. It's not Karin and Yuzu helping dad in his work, it's mom. This is another day, one I remember well too, and similar enough that the two memories can seamlessly blend together.
I don't see anything. I don't see blood, I don't see any cutting or sewing or any other surgery. But I hear, because it's a small house, and it's also a clinic; a pretty cheap building, the walls are thin. And no one's really paying attention to the sound levels right now. My dad fires orders like a soldier bullets from a machine gun; he's in a frenzy and sounds angry, even though I know he's not. My mom replies, sometimes coolly, sometimes alarmed, peremptory, when she realises something isn't going right, when something is missing, when she thinks my dad's getting it wrong. They argue, even; then they go back to working together. It's a chaotic, messy crescendo. Sometimes their actions are punctuated by screams of pain, until my dad asks for a syringe of morphine. But what's most terrifying about this memory isn't all the chaos and the noise.
It's the moment when everything suddenly becomes silent.
That's the moment in which I learn for the first time in my life what death is.
"Run away, Inoue!"
Back in the here and now, the monster is taking a swipe at us; I shout at Orihime and try to push her out of the way. I fall on the floor and roll on my side to get away again as the claw comes down, crashing into the concrete and lifting rubble and dust. Orihime screams, unable to see what is causing the destruction. Not that seeing it helps; the creature is an ugly, toothy monstrosity whose few human traits, like the hair falling out of the sides of its mask in sticky, wet-looking strands, only make it creepier, in an uncanny valley sort of way. Which isn't even the worst part, because I'm also sure now that this is her brother.
"-whyyyyyyy-riiiihimee..."
The thing wails and cries even as it attacks us. Orihime's name is mixed in with the laments and the nonsense. I'm glad that she can't hear it, because this is just too much. I feel nauseous even as my senses get more and more keen, as I get used to dodging this monster's attacks, which are dangerous but slow. I grab Orihime's hand again and try to pull her away, but this time she walks in the wrong direction and trips, confused by the attack from an enemy she can't see. As she stumbles, as a backhand slap from the Hollow slams her away from me and against the metal net. Yet her hand is still grabbing mine; in fact, I realise, now there's two Orihimes. The one that I'm holding has a chain sticking out of her chest.
"What happened?," she gasps, terrified.
I grab her again, hugging her waist with one arm and jumping to dodge a tail-swipe. This time she doesn't oppose resistance because, well, now she sees it pretty well. I'm convinced she must be dead for a moment, but then I realise that when I start running with her in the opposite direction from her body, there's a tug; her Chain of Fate tenses up and pulls her back. I follow it with my eyes and realise it's still attached, sinking into her real body at a similar spot to the one where it's attached to her soul. So maybe she's still alive, and she somehow was ejected from her body by the attack. An out of body experience. This isn't the time to speculate too much, but if it means there's still hope that she's not dead, I'll hang onto that. There's been enough death already in this school today.
"Oriiiiihhiiiimeeeeeee...!," wails the creature.
This time, she hears it. She hears the voice, the tone, and her eyes widen in an all new horror. She walks away from me, and slowly, she comes close to the monster, looking at it. She eyes those hair and has a flash of recognition. The two stand still in front of each other, the girl who's a bit shorter than me and the towering Hollow who could snap her like a twig, drooling some foul ectoplasm. They stand and stare, without moving; it seems like the Hollow won't attack, but I don't know how long can I trust it to keep that up. And I don't know what I'll be able to do when it stops.
Is this why you want the power? To protect?
Protecting is just the beginning. Protecting will not change the fact that Orihime's just realised that her brother is a hungry, tormented soul that would devour her just to share in the warmth of life for an instant.
That's more or less when Rukia shows up. She tumbles out of the door, jumps out of her gigai in her Shinigami uniform, and is ready to cut down the Hollow. By all means, I should let her. I know how it is, at this point. There's no saving Orihime's brother any more. There won't be any tearful reunion, any chance for healing and closure. He'll just lose whatever barely held together self-control he has right now, snap, and eat her face, turning her too into another hungry monster. Him being sent to the Soul Society right now is a mercy. But even then I can't - I just can't accept it.
My body moves on its own.
"Kuchiki, stop!"
I manage to grab her and toss her aside, despite her being in soul form. Perks of having some spirit sense, I guess. We roll on the floor gracelessly, and when I finally cross her eyes, she is furious, and probably not just because I ended up grabbing her in kind of an inappropriate way in the process. I step back and stand up. The Hollow has noticed her, and is now turning towards us, claws stretched out. Maybe something still stops him from attacking Orihime; a shred of humanity left. No such thing for us. We're just food.
"Toss yourself off this building if you want to jump around, you foolish human!," shouts Rukia, putting up a guarding stance. "And let me fight this creature already!"
She's right. She's right, I know it. And yet, I want something else. I have had it with all the unfairness and the randomness and the cruelty of this world, for today and for a while. This thought warms me up. I feel something swelling, rising within my chest; my soul itself expanding, as if pushing against the limits of this fake body, trying to go beyond. I want it, now, and I know what it is, and I know why I want it. I've known it and wanted it from that night, that night when I first learned the true meaning of the silence.
You want the power-
I want the power-
-to heal.
The burst of light must be blinding, but it's hard for me to see it, as I'm at its epicentre, and my consciousness flickers for a second. I feel again like a few days ago, when Rukia struck me and I died, my soul leaving the body behind. Except this time I feel lighter, stronger, more powerful; not with a broken chain dangling from my chest, weighing me down to Earth, but free and in full control of my potential. The words come from nowhere in particular, I scream them as they are the most natural thing for me to scream, my inner voice becoming the same as my true one.
"SEVERE THE BONDS OF DEATH! ZANGETSU!"
I stretch out my hands, visualise my own willpower and strength, and grasp it. When the light subsides, what I'm holding is not a weapon, nor a sword. It's a strange tool with no name, made of silvery, perfectly shining metal.
In my right hand, a surgical scalpel.
In my left, a needle, connected with a thread of the same appearance to the base of the scalpel, from which it seems to unspool without friction or limit.
Not a warrior's tool, nor a reaper's, but a surgeon's.
"Stand back, Orihime," I say, now feeling fully confident of my ability. "I will help him."
She's dazzled by it all, but she takes one step away from her brother, and that is all I need. The Hollow roars, angered but irrational, completely unafraid by the fact that he's now facing not one, but two Shinigami. Rukia herself, however, seems stunned by my transformation. She never kept it a secret that she didn't exactly expect or hope for me to make it. There's some satisfaction to be had there, but first, the important things.
The Hollow pounces me, but when he hits I'm not there any more. The speed I can achieve with this body is dazzling; I barely need to think about moving and I'm already there. I circle around the monster, and attack from its back. I need to get incredibly close, but this is not a problem for me right now, not while I'm at the height of both my power and my focus. I step on the Hollow's back and sink the scalpel into its flesh. The creature roars. I run forward and up, slicing up a single vertical cut throughout its entire back, opening the skin up in two flaps like you would the front of a body in an autopsy. Then I come to the mask, which is the hard part. I make the first cut, on the right side of it, by jumping off. The monster roars in pain and anger again and turns to bite me, and I quickly crouch to avoid its teeth and get under its chin, cutting the mask from his neck; then I grab it, pull myself up on the other side, finish the circle, and with one last pull I rip it off its face.
Under it, something human appears. The face of a young man, to whom Orihime reacts with a sudden gasp. She runs towards me, but he clutches his head within his claws, now.
"Stay away from me!," he screams, his voice a lot more human now, and not distorted by the mask. "I'm dangerous! I will-"
He stops talking when I stab him again. Orihime screams something, tells me to let him be, but I don't have time to explain. I cut again and around, ripping out open the Hollow's entire body. Judging from the screams, it must be painful, but I'm sorry, I don't have any anaesthetic, all I can do is try to be fast. The grey flesh is sticky and gooey, with no distinct organs inside, and I pull it off in chunks; inside it, the contours of a human body become visible. I don't think it would have been there had I cut with any other tool; rather, it feels like my scalpel both cuts and shapes. For the last operation, though, I have to use the needle. I cut in a circle around the hole in the spirit's chest, where the chain used to be before it all rotted away, and with it the soul's human heart. Torn, the skin is now bleeding and exposed. I pull its edges together, and they're surprisingly soft and malleable under my touch, as I sink the needle in one side, then the other, stitching them close. After the suture is complete I pull one last time, and the skin flaps come together fully, then I twist the scalpel with a flick of my wrist, using it to cut the silver wire. The wire comes loose and instantly wraps itself up, closing the hole as if there had never been one, while the one between the tools in my hands spontaneously mends itself into a single thread again. And just like that, it's done. I let out a sigh and get up, wiping sweat off my brow.
The ghost in front of me raises to his feet, his pain finally over, and looks at his own body and hands in surprise. It is, unmistakably, Sora Inoue, looking exactly like in the moment of his death. Orihime, still a ghost herself, stops holding back and runs to hug him, crying like a fountain. It feels good to see it. It feels like it was worth it.
Only now I finally start getting a sense of what happened. I did it. I became a Shinigami. I don't need to leave this world for Soul Society any more. The transformation overwhelmed me - it was like an entire new side of myself took over me, and my brain was flooded with instinctive knowledge that I didn't possess before.
"What... what did you do?," asks Rukia, finally shaking herself out of her stupor. She seems horrified.
What did I do? Hell if I know. I did what felt natural, but I don't really understand it. The tools in my hands are nothing like her sword, after all. A zanpakuto's shape is determined by the process, said Urahara. I guess my process was really weird.
From all that I understand of how this whole spirit thing works, I may have just created an entirely new kind of spirit. What I made Sora into isn't a Hollow, but neither it is a typical Whole. He has no Chain of Fate. Presumably, he could stay in this world for an indefinite time. Whether he'll want to is another matter, but at that point, it will at least be his choice.
Rukia is fidgeting. "I must heal that girl. She's already seen us - there is so much evidence to erase..."
"Oh, let her have this, for fuck's sake," I moan, exasperated. "Pull that stick out of your ass for once."
"Pull... what? How dare you!"
I can't even stay angry at her right now, so I just laugh as she screams scandalised. Not that I don't have any worries of my own, but the euphoria of the moment overcomes them all. There's going to be time to figure it out. For now, life is good.
Sousuke Aizen
The news get stranger by the day. I am now genuinely curious about this Kurosaki boy - he seems to be at the very least an amusing existence. What he did was something unique, and that I would very much like to investigate. It could provide surprising insights for my research.
He made my life easier too. I was just wondering about how exactly to move the plan forward, and he went and made that unnecessary. His little stunt has lit up like a beacon on every sensor the 12th Squad has. When Captain Kurotsuchi reported on it, he looked like he was having a stroke. The issue will be dealt with immediately and with maximum prejudice.
The boy will be brought to Soul Society soon. It is time that I move to the final phase of my plan.