Date written: 29/01/10 – 25/02/10

Posted on FanFiction: 28/02/10

A/N: I had Midterms. What do you expect? From January to March, these three months are when I am at my busiest, guys. It happened last year, too, although this fic didn't exist until April of that year. No matter. Here's the final act of the Quincy arc.

--- CHAPTER 22 ---

Princess & Swordsman: Final Act

Kisuke wished he still had his hat. It gave him comfort over the range of emotions he tried to keep at bay. Few would've known this—and it was quite a few because Kisuke never bothered knowing other people due to his life expectancy which can outlive even the oldest person on Earth—but he started wearing that hat after he was introduced to a game of poker by a friend back in 1958. This was a time when Japan's economy was starting to reassert itself after its fall in a post-World-War-Two community. The business associate in question was a half-American who was born and raised in the US but had a Japanese mother who migrated into the foreign country two years before the war, and he and Kisuke met while the former was drunk and slurring for directions of his hotel from the latter. They hit it off pretty much after that, for some odd reason. The half-American explained that he came here on vacation—he and Kisuke wouldn't be business partners until 1969, in the same month a space shuttle from America landed on the moon, but that's a story for another time.

He showed Kisuke how to play poker one night, and the blond was instantly hooked. Not enough to pronounce it as an addiction, mind you. It was just a hobby he wanted to do after decades of only tinkering around with supernatural experiments and managing a small shop in a non-disclosed area in Karakura Town. He got to admit it was a good stress reliever for some of the bigger failures of his projects back then, but whenever they played he lost almost all the time. He was lucky he and his friend only played with tiny wages than big rollers.

"Don't worry so much about it," his foreign friend said. "You just need to work on your game face." His friend needed work on his accent, but Kisuke still got the gist of what he meant.

It was true Kisuke was a master when it came to showing a different facial expression than what he was really feeling—he had decades to perfect that—but once he sat down and his cards were given to him, all of that training went out the window for some reason. That left him with the basic knowledge of Texas Hold 'Em, playing with his friend and other poker enthusiasts, and a face that expressed everything it was feeling. Kisuke lost a lot of money, but his skills in the game grew.

Something else also grew. When the foreigner returned to his home country, Kisuke taught Tessai the game, and they played with 1 Yen coins representing $10 chips. Even against Tessai, he often lost because he couldn't hold a bluff or make Tessai bet everything in when he had an excellent hand. He might be a natural loser in the ways of putting on a 'poker face' (as it was coined much, much later), but that did not deter his mind to work around that disadvantage.

If he couldn't hide his emotions during the game, then the next best way would be to hide his face—or rather just his eyes. They are the windows of the soul, after all. Around a month after the foreigner left, Kisuke bought himself a hat. It resembled a small summer hat and a gangster fedora, and it had been a hard choice to pick out the colors (green hat with white stripes or white hat with green stripes). And that was when he always turned to his hat for the dreaded 'poker face,' though with a more playful side than the generic stoicism. He wore it all the time in games that he began to grow dependent on it that he would wear it outside the games as well. Not long after, he discovered that hiding his emotions without the hat was a lot more difficult to do, and Yoruichi, who went to Urahara Shouten for a little surprise visit back in 1978, was appalled that he had grown weak over a simple ability as emotion masking. Though she did comment that he looked mysterious with that hat.

His hat meant emotional control (keeping the poker face in place, as he liked to call it); without it, he was screwed more or less. He could've just stopped from flash-stepping, turned around, and went back for it. But he couldn't forget about Emi and her unpredictability.

This situation was like a Texas Hold 'Em poker game: a one-on-one betting pool between him and her. No boundaries in the betting, bet everything if you wanted to. Emi betted little in this game, so there was nothing severe if she lost . . . other than the opportunity to regain dominion over the body. Kisuke betted more than he could possibly promise. He had a ten and an ace in his hand, four cards (three, ten, jack, and queen) already drawn to the table. Emi was no doubt smiling. And this was where his dilemma started: should he bet it all on that final card or fold before he could sink himself deeper? If the final card was a king, then he had a Straight. If not, he got comfort in a meager pair of tens.

Bet everything, his thoughts whispered, or lose everything. To him, the two choices didn't seem different from each other.

Arriving at the center of Karakura Park, he stayed where he stood, barely fifteen paces from where Ichigo Kurosaki was down on the ground, leaking vast amounts of spiritual pressure like a broken faucet.

The Quincy, Uryuu Ishida, was also there, standing over Kurosaki's prone form. Ishida lifted his foot and placed it over Kurosaki's chest, as if he were declaring himself the victor in some kind of duel. Emi seemed to have gotten the same conclusion as he did, because she had on a very deep scowl rivaling Kurosaki's, while the hand not holding onto her nodachi was caressing the blunt side of the blade. Kisuke suddenly had a vivid image of an evil queen showing affection to her hungry pet panther before she set it loose on one innocent servant with rimless glasses. The image was quite fitting to the situation, but Emi seemed to want blood more than her blade.

Standing close to where she had stopped her flash-step was mere luck, but Kisuke still thanked his fortune. He was sure that the alter-ego of Orihime would have done something irrevocable to the Quincy if he had not put a hand on her shoulder before she could raise her blade upon the boy. She turned to him, eyes blazing like the fires of Soukyoku's phoenix form.

"Let go," she said, voice low.

Kisuke didn't comply. He kept his firm hold, and Emi tried shrugging it off. In a sense, his instincts told him to just observe and watch. From what he knew about the Quincy, he's not the type to gloat his victories like this. Something was up, and Emi did not see that.

"Look," he said, and then looked back at Kurosaki and Ishida.

Ishida raised his right hand up, the Quincy cross swinging at his wrist like a pendulum. Spiritual energy concentrated onto his hand, forming the neon blue bow which was the Quincy's pride and joy, growing bigger and bigger until it looked like it was made for a giant than a human. This event gave everyone momentary pause, even Emi, but Ishida recovered sooner and started firing arrow after arrow onto the sky. And with every arrow ejected from the giant bow, Kurosaki's reiatsu diminished.

"What are you doing?" Kurosaki asked, conscious but unable to move his body due to the pressure he couldn't control.

"Shut up," Ishida replied, not stopping his arrow shooting. "This duel isn't over, Kurosaki. And I will not just stand idly by and let you die before we even settled the score once and for all."

Kurosaki wisely kept his mouth shut as Ishida continued shooting the sky. Kisuke knew that Kurosaki would think that this attempt would save him, but the blond knew otherwise. Kurosaki released too much of his hidden potential; it would take more than sucking out his spiritual energy to power those arrows to placate his erratic spiritual core. It had opened too wide that he estimated that it would take four hours before Ishida could stop and rest. And that would take too long. Right now, Kurosaki was like a dormant super volcano, awaiting eruption if the leak in his core were not sealed up in time.

So much uncontrolled potential, he thought randomly, as millions of other thoughts raced through his mind. Your son does not cease to amaze me, Isshin-san.

"I said let me go," Emi said all of a sudden, and emphasized it with a big shake of her shoulders. His hand almost lost grip, but he kept it in place. He saw that her nodachi was sheathed, so he knew that she wasn't about to pick up a fight.

"What do you intend to do?" Kisuke asked. He glanced back at the two teenagers. Ishida's left hand was bleeding, and some of the blood was already staining his polo shirt.

At this moment of distraction, Emi grabbed his hand and threw it off her shoulder. She then followed it up by a knee to the gut and an elbow to the nape. The first one connected, but Kisuke reacted swiftly enough to dodge the second strike. But she didn't continue because her attention was back on Ishida and Kurosaki. It was at that time they saw the giant bow dissipate in the air and Ishida grabbing onto his left hand in agony.

"Ishida, what's wrong?" Kurosaki asked as his reiatsu began to build up again.

Ishida was about to force out an answer, but Emi pushed him away from Kurosaki.

"Inoue!" Ichigo exclaimed, only to eat his words after seeing the scowl on her face. And those chocolate brown eyes. "Emi," he growled.

"It's nice to know I'm quite loved, cutie," she replied. She glanced at Ishida, who was busier with the severe injury he had inflicted on his left hand. Ichigo had only seen it for a moment, but there was no mistaking the loud SNAP he had heard. Ishida had broken his fingers.

"What are you going to do?" It took a little while before he came to the conclusion that he was at the mercy of Emi unless Ishida did something to stop her. He still couldn't move his body no matter how much effort he gave, and the pressure was already starting to crush his body. He didn't know what would happen if his soul were to be crushed like this. Would he die and be sent to Soul Society, or would he be erased from existence like the Hollows the Quincy had killed?

"I'm here to help." Without his consent, she started straddling him.

He mouthed 'What,' lost from the shock of feeling a certain part of her anatomy meeting with the counterpart of his anatomy, and then outwardly yelled, ". . . the fuck?!"

"Not exactly," she answered.

"That's not what I meant, I—" Again without his consent, Emi leaned close to his face until they were nose-to-nose. He could feel her breath as it blew on his dry lips. Those luscious brown eyes inviting him again into whatever depths they held, only this time Rukia was not here to stop her.

And then he felt it. The pressure within his body was gradually disappearing, as if someone had pulled off the drain's plug and the pooled up water from the running tap sank down into the drain.

"Hold still and it'll all be over soon," she said, though it sounded more of a moan than a reassuring tone.

Ichigo could do no less. He was paralyzed everywhere but his head. Their close proximity with each other was not putting him at ease.

"Good boy."

"Inoue-san," Ishida murmured, still nursing the fractured joints of his fingers. "What are you doing?"

Emi ignored him. Her fingers worked their way to Ichigo's face, touching, caressing, prodding, as if she found it very entertaining to torture him this way. It was not exactly torture but it was not a welcoming invasion of privacy either. And her soft and gentle treatments were creating an unnecessary buildup at the loins of his shinigami outfit. Not only that, Ichigo began to have this feeling that he was being sucked dry, like a vampire victim. Only it wasn't blood he was losing but spiritual energy.

"Ishida, get her off me!" he yelled, surprising both teens in his hostility.

"What do you me—"

"Just get her off!"

Ishida looked taken aback, but he didn't seem to like fulfilling the order. Probably not used to do people yelling and ordering him around like that, but Ichigo could care less about that when he was slowly losing every bit of his spiritual energy the longer Emi was having her way with him.

"Inoue-san, I ask again, what are you doing?"

Emi didn't answer. She was smiling in satisfaction, like an actual vampire reveling in the sweet taste of blood.

"Inoue-san?"

She turned to look at him. Ishida took a quick intake of breath when he saw her eyes—Ichigo had that same expression when he first saw Emi and those entrancing chocolate brown orbs—and he then narrowed his own.

"What—who are you?" he questioned, although it didn't sound as threatening as Ichigo had hoped.

"Someone special," she said, "but who's to say I'm obligated to tell you that?"

Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted when someone slid a blade next to her neck. "You heard the man. Get off before he gets pissed." Ichigo recognized that voice, vaguely. He turned his head as much as his limited body control could permit, and he was greeted with the sight of a shaggy man wearing green apparel and wooden clogs. The distinct green-and-white-striped hat he remembered him wearing was absent. It made him seem shaggy and weird, but this image was contrasted with the magnificent blade he held threateningly at the girl on top of him.

The sword's hilt was almost standard in appearance, but the bottom end of sandal-hat's sword elongated further in a diagonal direction, looking like a cross between an L and a J. At its tip was a crimson tassel, sort of like Ichigo's own tassel but fluffier and thicker. Only glancing at it, you'd think that there was no hilt guard, but upon closer inspection you'd see that the hilt guard was relatively small in comparison to the normal katana hilt guards. It was also black in color, blending in quite nicely with the hilt. Red strings were tied at the top of the guard, separating it from the brown U-shaped decoration enclosing three inches of the blade. Another decoration—it looked like a triangle key chain with a size-decreasing motif as the chain reached its tip, to Ichigo—was fastened at the side of the hilt and had the same length as the straight hilt.

Ichigo was not a man to trust in remembering people's names or faces, but the impression this shaggy person had on him was enough to warrant a slight remembrance; he knew that this man was named Urahara. He knew next to nothing about Urahara, but the man's actions seemed pretty clear with that sword of his. Was he a shinigami just like Rukia?

Emi frowned at Urahara. "Party pooper."

He, in turn, narrowed his eyes. "Off. Now."

The smile she showed spelled trouble, Ichigo just knew it.

And he was proven correct when Emi suddenly disappeared in a sound of static, and then reappearing behind the sandal-hat guy, her long blade drawn. She made for a clean horizontal sweep, but Urahara acted fast and intersected the slash with his own. Sparks flew as their blades met in a battle of strength and of will. Ichigo could almost hear the sound of the swords grinding against each other. The deadlock did not last long, but there was enough force in their pushes to force a short but powerful burst of wind in their presence.

Each competitor gave distance to the other as they prepared for a second wave of attack. Their grips were tight and their body language gave off precision; a simple mistake would lead to defeat. While Urahara seemed to prefer defense and tactics than a full-out attack, Emi was like an enigma. She didn't take a stance nor did she bother keeping her eyes on her enemy—a lesson Rukia had imprinted into his head with rigorous training. She just looked excited and happy, like she was enjoying the highlights of a favorite movie than fighting a tense battle . . . like she was fighting solely on the basic human instinct: survival.

They made their moves, moving in speeds that the naked eye could not comprehend. Even Ishida—bastard was too stunned to move—had a hard time keeping up. With what his eyes could not do, his ears were substituting for it. He heard the sounds of slashes, metal against metal, and the air getting sliced as the intended target dodges it in time. The sound of Urahara's clogs hitting loudly onto the pavement. The sound of their robes rattling at the gathered winds they had unexpectedly brought.

This battle was beyond Ichigo's caliber, and he was shocked to admit that if Emi had this kind of power and skill all along, then what match would he be if he had to fight her? He was weak, compared to what those two could do. And if that was how shinigami could fight—really fight—then what did that say about their enemies, the Hollows? Was he just fighting weaklings, or were the shinigami actually that strong?

He had no idea. All he knew was that the paralysis put on his body was weakening, giving him access to the movement of his fingers and toes, and even if he were to be back in action, there was nothing he could do to help Urahara in this fight. Then again, he doubted he'd have the guts to fight Emi. One look would be enough to set him into the same position he had been in before.

The two escalated their battle as the sounds of slashes began to overlap each other. Static sounds were everywhere as Urahara and Emi phased in and out of Ichigo's visual perception. The wind around them was turning the place dangerous for bystanders to be around. From what Ichigo knew about physics, there seemed to be a vacuum effect as the battle continued. With the competitors going in speeds faster than the speed of air occupying empty space, the effect was the surrounding air bombarding the airless space, causing the vacuum. It was the sort of wind forming when a speeding car passes by you, only more concentrated and forceful in its approach. This was unreal. Yet it was happening right now.

"Ishida!"

The bespectacled teen did not take notice of Ichigo's call; his attention was on the fight, his eyes narrowed, trying to get a clearer view of their inhuman speed.

"Hey, Ishida," Ichigo called again, hitting the guy good in the arm for certainty.

"What?" he asked, rubbing his now sore arm.

"We need to get out of here."

A strong gust of wind came upon them. Dust filled the air. Leaves from the surrounding trees rustled and danced. Ichigo glanced back at the spot where he thought the two were battling it out, but obviously they were not there. The two combatants didn't stay in one or two spots for more than five to ten seconds; changing locations could give either of them an advantage in the environment. But this tactic was not done by Urahara, the tactician in the fight. It was Emi, who seemed to like shifting from place-to-place faster than a homeless drifter. Talk about ironic.

The heavy grind of metal sounded from above them. By now, the Hollows in the vicinity retreated along with that long-nosed giant, so the sky was clear of any obstructions. Definitely not a good strategic point if Emi wanted to gain an environmental advantage on her enemy.

Or was she?

Just what the heck is she doing?

But he would have to worry about her method of fighting for another time; right now, the battle escalated too high for him and Ishida to linger around in the battlefield. Ichigo didn't like retreating, but he had to think about the situation and take a look at the bigger picture. He had to believe Urahara would handle Emi by his own power, and Orihime would somehow find a way to regain control.

It seemed to be the only way.

"Come on," he said to Ishida, "let's get out of here."

Thankfully, the guy did not argue; Ichigo would've knocked him out if he protested at all. When they left the battlefield, Rukia and the sandal-hat guy's kids were waiting for them. None knew what was going on when they heard Orihime's screams.

Kisuke was calm, but also tense. Contradicting in every word, but there was no other way of explaining the feeling he had. His stance was appropriate for close-range combat and superior defense. Any enemy would be hard-pressed in trying to find an opening, so the calm came from the knowledge of safety. If anything else, he still had Benihime's ultimate shield as a last resort. But with the calm was the tension. His enemy did not have any kind of stance. But the way her body seemed to gesture a dangerous message ("Don't underestimate me; I'm really fuckin' dangerous") was enough reason for Kisuke to not make the first move. It was a mystifying feeling; it was like he was a rookie again, fighting his enemies in the best way he knew how to: forego procedure and stances and trust your knowledge and your instincts. And his instincts were screaming that dangerous message at him with a giant megaphone. There were few shinigami he had known and met who had Emi's level of confidence . . . and the power to back it up. He already had a taste of how much powerful she could be in a fight. She didn't look threatening nor was she trying to create a sense of provocation so that he would let his guard down. She just stood there, sword in hand, smiling as if this were just some game.

It probably is to her, he thought worriedly. This is like a game of poker: bet everything or lose everything.

"You seem tense," Emi said, head tilting to the right, like an innocent child guessing answers. But there was nothing innocent about her smile. "Yet also calm. It's written all over your face."

Kisuke's hand gripped his sword tighter. He wasn't sure if his eyes could narrow any further. It was poker all over again, but this time his opponent could even sense his worries in the battlefield, his haven from the boring labors of human life. He thought he had the best poker face when it came to battles like this, but . . . but . . . how could she read him so easily like that? How?

The winds gathered from their fight blew onto his hair. And it was here Kisuke remembered his hat and where it was.

Yoruichi-san's going to kill me if she found out about this, he thought grimly. Well, it won't matter much if I end this quick. All in or fold? What's it going to be, Kisuke?

"I'm giving you one last chance to surrender," he said. He lowered his sword to lessen the threat it posed, but he was taking a great risk on this because he'd be vulnerable to an attack. "I'm not about to kill my friend's only legacy."

Emi scoffed. "Is that all? You're halting our duel because you're still keeping that oath you made to my Father that night?"

"How did you—"

"Know about that? I already told you that little tidbit earlier, didn't I?" She giggled. "Memories are precious little things to people like you. What Father did to me and Orihime transferred fragments of his memories in the process. It was bad enough I had to get it from the one you call Tsukiyomi, but the memories were great entertainment while stuck inside here." She tapped her forehead twice. "I just took the liberty of keeping these from princess."

"What gain would that give you?"

"It is inevitable for princess to get curious about her real family and start poking her nose in dangerous places. It's more thrilling to wait and see her work so hard to search for the truth, and when she finally finds it . . . seeing her face and feeling what she'll feel once she discover what has become of Father all those years ago gives me something to greatly anticipate in the future."

"You're sick."

"Hypocritical coming from your mouth, Urahara-kun. And for your offer, my answer is n—"

A pause. Eyes widening. Then she screamed bloody murder.

Orihime had succeeded. It was difficult searching for an exit, but it was more difficult trying to find a safe passage through it. Emi had been thorough about keeping Orihime inside this place and she took every precaution needed to keep it that way. But fortunate for Orihime, it wasn't thorough enough to work out the small holes in this particular exit.

She stood in front of a giant black arch. Its surface was clean and smooth, no intricate symbols to give it a bit of history. The artifact was situated in the middle of a barren plain not unlike the ground where the graveyard of swords had been in. Her travels through this strange place was something similar to what Alice had gone through when she slid down that rabbit hole and entered Wonderland. Surely there were many strange encounters during her search but this place also seemed to play around with her memories. She couldn't even remember how she got from the graveyard of swords to this place, like something was making sure that whatever she had seen other than the graveyard and this place would remain a secret. Her journey must've been full of effort because she felt exhausted. Weird, feeling tired inside her own head, but there was no other description for it.

But her journey was not the important thing. It was the outcome, the final obstacle before reaching her destination. This arch before her was an unusual sight to see inside this twilight wasteland (it wouldn't be twilight for long, however, if she didn't hurry up), and this was why she was drawn to this place. It never occurred to her that she had found the exit until she'd gotten close enough to take a better look at the upside-down U. What lay beyond the arch was the outside world seen through Emi's eyes. She didn't hear sound other than her breathing. Sight was enough for her to understand how important it was for her to retake her body quick. But it seemed Fate was against her.

Whenever she got close to the arch, she would feel her body getting numb, entering a sort of paralyzed state, before being pushed away by some unseen force. And that force pushed hard. Orihime had skidded on the ground and when she rose back up, sore and miserable, she realized the gap between her and the arch had increased over fifteen feet.

She tried it again and ended up with the same result, though she felt sorer now.

Seeing that simply walking towards it was not going to work at all, Orihime went for a different approach. Rukia always told her about the "mind over matter" speech in every meditation lessons. It was what kept kidou users from becoming overwhelmed over their own spiritual energy. A similar event had already occurred to Orihime, but that was immediately dealt with by unknown reasons, although Rukia had her suspicions pinned on Emi. She had said that the important thing to remember is that there is no obstacle for the mind to overcome. This was not a battle of will, but a challenge to go the distance. And those that fell before achieving that final stretch, Orihime was told, weren't able to realize their full potential in the arcane arts because their minds were not strong enough to handle the strain. The "mind over matter" exercises Rukia had taught her were nothing more than tests to learn the maximum capabilities of a kidou user. All members in the Kidou Corp. had used these exercises and completed a full cycle, and that was a feat worthy of praise for all kidou users. Orihime had only been a beginner when Rukia tested her, but both girls were surprised that she had completed a half-cycle.

It was with this thought in mind that Orihime began to recall the instructions Rukia had given her. The proper stance, the proper breathing method, the easiest ways to clear your head of random thoughts. Serenity inside Orihime's spiritual core. Meditation was propelled her into achieving this mood, the best emotional state to control spiritual energy. Distress causes spikes and blockages in the core. She had to let the energy pass through her body like water in a river, undisturbed and continuous in its powerful currents. If she were to harness this state while trying to cross the arch, then maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to regain control over the body.

But she didn't rule out Emi fighting back. Only the foolish would think so.

With the silent rhythm of her breathings continuing in a loop, Orihime had once more gained serenity, albeit temporarily. The best time she had while in this state was one minute. A lot of time to spare for just walking across an archway, but caution was needed because the problem wasn't solved yet. She didn't want to get sloppy after coming this far.

Keeping her eyes away from the images Emi saw helped in maintaining the serene state. Temptation was another block other than distress. She needed to stay focused and accidentally catching a glimpse of Ichigo's face from Emi's point of view would not help at all.

She walked towards the arch once more. There was resistance in the same spot where she knew the paralysis would take effect. An invisible barrier was standing between her and the gateway to freedom. She didn't stop; she kept walking. It felt like passing through a waterfall, the force of the barrier tried to bring down her body like gravity had tripled.

She was close to the archway. Just a few more steps and it would be over.

"You!"

But then the gravity tripled again. Orihime strained her legs to keep standing. It was not an easy task, not by a long shot, but it was either this or losing to Emi once and for all. She didn't want that. And if this was the resistance Emi would show, then she had no choice but to overcome it. Odds were against her; she didn't care. Her mind was serene, and the worries and fears were still not wrapping around her mind yet.

All she wanted was to pass through the archway.

"No! I won't allow it! I'm not done here yet."

Orihime paid little heed to the booming voice. She was close to the goal, inches away from it. Her hand touched something liquid, creating ripples on the image of the outside world. Pushing through, her hand slipped past the water-like image, and on the other side she could feel something wet but lukewarm all over her arm, as if she had plunged it into a tub filled with water.

"Stop! NO! Don't come any closer. Don't come any—"

Orihime went for the final stretch and leaped into the archway, disturbing the image greatly that the ripples had turned into splashing waves. The image dissipated, turning darker and darker, and if anyone were to able hear sounds from the world outside the archway, they would've heard the chilling shrieks of a pained teenage girl.

When Orihime came to, she found herself lying inside a futon laid out in an unfamiliar room. The layout of the place looked old and worn, but still homely in appearance. The walls were made out of a light wood while the ceiling was colored in pure white.

She rose to a sitting position, then coughed a few times. For some reason her throat burned as if she had sung a hundred high-pitched songs.

"Here," someone to her right said. She looked to that direction, heart leaping from surprise and anxiety, and realized it was only Ichigo offering her a glass of water. He looked okay, and back in his physical body, seeing that he was wearing their school's uniform than his shinigami robes.

She took the glass from him, eyed it a moment, and drank it slowly. It wasn't cold, but it was adequate in lessening the pain.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He took the now empty glass from her and set it to one side. "Urahara Shouten. You've been out for two hours."

"Two hours? What happened?"

"What was the last thing you remember?"

"I remember . . ." Her eyebrows drew together in concentration. "I remember walking towards Tatsuki-chan, who was lying on the ground. I knelt beside her, and . . . red. All I saw was red. And after that was waking up in a field of old and used swords impaled on the ground, like chipped tombstones in a long forgotten cemetery." She touched her forehead, rubbing it with three of her fingers in a caress. "I remember now. It was Emi, wasn't it."

It was not a question, just a mere stated fact they both knew. But Ichigo nodded anyway.

"What happened after I regained control?" she asked.

The sound of a sliding door reached their ears. In came the blond man with the green-and-white striped hat, Kisuke Urahara. He looked exhausted and pale.

"Perhaps it's better if I were the one to answer that one," he said, tilting his hat lower until shadows formed around his eyes. "Wouldn't you say, Kurosaki-san?"

"Y—yeah," Ichigo answered. He sounded reluctant.

Urahara slid the door closed behind him and settled himself on a spot near Orihime's right leg. Ichigo was on her left side, watching the shaggy man silently.

"When the Hollows were driven out of this realm, Emi was about to—"

"Can we skip that part, please?" Ichigo interrupted.

The other two looked at him, puzzled, more so in Orihime's case.

Urahara chuckled. "As you wish. She won't miss much of the events either way. Well, after I drew my sword against Emi, we fought each other to the best of my capabilities."

"Their movements were so fast that I couldn't even catch up to them," Ichigo added, one hand squeezing his kneecap tight. His head was looking down at the ground, and Orihime instinctively knew he was disturbed about this particular incident. She'd look on it later; Urahara was about to continue.

"It was a tough fight, let me tell you that," he said. "If I hadn't been inside this gigai, then she would've posed no threat at all."

"Wait a minute," Ichigo interrupted again, "wait just a goddamn moment! You mean to tell me that you fought Emi while still in a gigai? And that gigai suppressed your powers?"

Urahara nodded. "That's correct. It was not wise to fight her like that when the stakes were quite high, but I've been merged inside this vessel for such a long time that I often forget I actually am using a gigai."

"Then that fight out there was not your best?"

"Of course not; my current power level goes way beyond that."

"How beyond are we talking about?" Orihime asked.

"Hmm . . . twenty- to twenty-five-fold, give or take."

Ichigo swallowed his next words. He seemed to prefer silence, so that his mind would have time to fully process the news about Urahara's true power level. What Urahara had failed to mention in his talk was that it had been years since he had such an intense fight as with Emi. Normally, he'd spar with Tessai every few weeks so as not to get rusty and be fallen prey to Yoruichi's ire if she ever found wind of him slacking off on training, but a controlled fight is incomparable to an actual fight, where variables that can turn the tides of battle are everywhere. Orihime and Ichigo were both ignorant to this little fact, and Urahara intended to keep it that way.

"Then what happened?" Orihime questioned, gripping the sheets of her futon harder.

"Kurosaki-san and the Quincy backed away from our fight. They were safe from harm because of that, but . . . their escape didn't mean much when everything ended less than a minute after they left."

"Quincy?"

"He meant Ishida," Ichigo clarified. "I'll tell you about it later," he added when she was about to ask something.

"Emi then screamed so loud that Kurosaki-san came back in a flash," Urahara said. "And that was the end of it. No big, final blows or anything. After the screams, your body just collapsed. At least Kurosaki-san saved you from a nasty fall."

"We carried you back here to recuperate," Ichigo added.

"We?" Urahara arched an eyebrow. "I quite remember you being the only one carrying Orihime-san back to this shop."

"Wait!" Orihime exclaimed. She checked herself and found she was still wearing shinigami robes. "Where's my body?"

"In the next room," Urahara said. "The Mod Soul stumbled upon it while he was searching for his 'Nee-san,' according to him."

Ichigo dug something out from his pocket. It was a green pill. "Thanks for ejecting him out, by the way," he said to Urahara.

The blond nodded. "And there's something else I forgot to tell you." He eyed both the orange-heads. "My companion Tessai picked up two interesting people when we separated from Kuchiki-san. I think you both know them well."

"Who?" Ichigo asked.

"They're asleep last I checked." He stood up and headed towards the door. "They're sleeping in the same room as where Orihime-san's body is."

With that, he left the room with an enigmatic smile on his face.

Orihime rose from bed slowly. Something glittering on the lower right side of her futon caught her eye. It was her hairpins, neat and orderly, as if they were placed by Urahara before he exited. She placed them where they belonged, although she wished she had a mirror to check if they were on right. She turned towards Ichigo, who was standing up and looking at her. When she nodded at him, he nodded back; a silent message passed between them, and they were ready to visit the next room.

They exited the first room and went to the next, waiting just outside the door. Orihime was unsure how to proceed. There was something about what Urahara said that made her nervous enough to hesitate over simply sliding open a door. She didn't know what Ichigo was feeling in that moment, but he wasn't opting to open the door either. But he seemed to have a better grasp in coping with the tense situation because he nodded at Orihime once more while his hand went for the door's handle. All he waited for was Orihime's compliance.

With a light gulp of saliva—Orihime wished she had another glass of water—she nodded, and Ichigo opened the door.

Inside was a room identical to the one Orihime had woken up in. The only difference she made out was the three futons spread out evenly on the tatami mat, the bottom side of the mattress-less beds nearest to the door. The person lying inside the futon on the left was Orihime's physical body; the one in the middle had Tatsuki; the last one, on the right, was where Sado was sitting up and examining the room he had woken up in.

"Ichigo," he said when he heard the door slid open. He turned his head slowly to the left of Ichigo where his companion was standing. "Orihime."

Both of the people Sado called stood looking surprised at him. Orihime was still in shinigami form, so it was a big shocker to learn Sado could actually see her. He hadn't been able to before, though, and that puzzled Ichigo a bit. Not for Orihime; she had already gone through the discovery with Tatsuki weeks ago.

"But . . ." Sado looked back at the futon on the other side of the room, or rather the person lying on it. "There's two of you?"

"Not exactly, Sado-kun," she replied. She walked into the room towards Tatsuki's bedside.

"How can you see her?" Ichigo asked him.

"What do you mean?"

Orihime thought for a moment whether it'd be wise to tell Sado the truth about their 'extra curriculum,' so to speak, and believed that it was the best course of action. Sado had already gotten involved by developing his spiritual sensitivity enough to see souls . . . and possibly Hollows as well. This must be why Urahara called them 'interesting.' Not only Tatsuki, but Sado must've been targeted by a Hollow, and Urahara's friend—Tessai was his name, if she remembered correctly—had been there to save the Mexican from being devoured. At least that was what she believed, but there was some kind of inner sense in her that told her a different story. Sado's spiritual powers had increased exponentially. So much that it was almost frightening to take a look at the gap between what she recalled his levels were before to what they were now.

"Kurosaki-kun, I think it's better you tell him the truth. He'll see us in the future, after all."

Ichigo looked like he had gotten to the same conclusion as she had. "Yeah," he said and began telling his fighting buddy about all the stuff Rukia had first told them, minus the colorful illustrations.

Orihime sat herself to Tatsuki's right, so that she could still have a good view of the two males in the room while she checked over Tatsuki's condition. Her breathing was normal. Her temperature, the same. She just looked tired. But her ministrations must've caused the former sleeping beauty to arouse from her slumber. Tatsuki's eyes fluttered open, and closed immediately when they came into contact with the light source of the room.

"Tatsuki-chan," Orihime said, grateful that her best friend was fine after what they had both been through during the past few hours.

Tatsuki groaned. She rose from her futon, pushing the blankets that it only covered her hips and down. She was shaking her head, a habit of hers whenever she first wakes up. Orihime knew that Tatsuki was never a morning person, and only a good cup of coffee or tea could make her one-hundred percent aware of her surroundings.

"Tatsuki-chan," she said again, hoping to get a reply, but there was none. Tatsuki was blinking her eyes rapidly and groaned again.

"I feel like I've been run over by a freight train," Tatsuki murmured, rubbing off the sleep from her eyes. She looked to her left, away from Orihime. "Ichigo, Sado? What are you two doing here?"

"Orihime will explain," Ichigo said, pointing to said girl.

"Orihime?" Tatsuki turned around. Her eyes widened. "Orihime!"

Without warning, she shoved the rest of her blanket down and scooted out. Orihime expected Tatsuki to hug her out of worry, but she was most surprised when Tatsuki went past her and towards the futon where her body laid.

"Orihime," Tatsuki said. Then to Ichigo: "Is she gonna be okay?"

Ichigo smacked his forehead. "Right. Forgot she can't see ghosts at all."

"That's not true!" Orihime exclaimed, escaping her momentary shock. "I've—I've told Tatsuki-chan the truth weeks ago; back when Kon-kun kidnapped your body."

"What? Why'd you do that?"

"Do what? And I, too, can see ghosts," Tatsuki said.

"She's right. She had been able to see me and I had no choice but to tell her everything," Orihime said.

"Well, why isn't she seeing you now?" Ichigo asked.

"Seeing who exactly?" Tatsuki questioned, confused over what was going on.

Sado felt as if he was fading in the background, so he answered Tatsuki's inquiry to contribute something into the conversation. "Orihime is right there." He pointed to where Soul Orihime was.

"But Orihime is right . . ." Tatsuki paused. "Right . . ." She looked towards the spot where Sado had pointed. "Orihime?"

Not knowing what else to do, Orihime crawled near Tatsuki and grabbed her tense shoulders. She was surprised by the contact, but this only assured Orihime's suspicions that something was wrong.

"Orihime? Is that really you?"

Orihime couldn't say a thing. Her words could no longer reach her best friend's ears.

Chapter Afterword:

The thing about Ishida breaking his fingers because of the inhuman amount of spiritual energy put into his bow is an AU event. It is not canon, but who's to say AUs should be faithful followers of canon? It was just something to further develop the relationship (platonic, people, P-L-A-T-O-N-I-C) between Orihime and Uryuu. While Uryuu always seems to have a soft spot when it comes to Orihime in the series, the change in perspective, so to speak, makes this soft spot harder to detect in this story. It's probably microscopic in size. Who knows?