"Well, they're gone. Finally."
A world transformed into quarters where countless skyscrapers towered high. At its center stood a young man gripping a broken Zanpakutō.
White. That single color defined his entire impression. With an expression that seemed both bored and pleased, he exhaled and turned around to address someone behind him.
"This is what you wanted, right?"
"...Yeah. Sorry for the trouble."
"Don't worry about it," the young man replied to the low male voice.
There stood a figure in complete opposite—pitch black. A man in a coat that seemed to cloak him in darkness stood against the skyscraper wall.
"Even if he's like that, he's still the king of this world. Can't have him losing."
The young man gazed at the broken blade in his hand, recalling the face of the one who'd done this. Still unreliable, but during that recent trial, his partner—Kurosaki Ichigo—had shown a glimmer of promise.
The determination in the eyes of the boy who'd just left held a great power that truly inspired expectation.
Now then. Though the white young man had awakened as an individual after a long time, he couldn't remain here much longer. Sensing the "seal" he'd been monitoring gradually tightening its restraints, the young man returned to the interior of the black-clad man.
"...He's strong, Mr. Zangetsu. Take good care of him."
After all, he'll be mine eventually.
Weathering and being absorbed, the white young man vanished into the darkness shrouding the black man.
Receiving those words, the man left alone looked up toward the heavens.
"...Ichigo, do you realize?"
The power you've inherited. The mission forced upon you. And—the reason you were born.
The man who called himself Zangetsu, who chose to become the power protecting him from destruction. Closing his melancholy-filled eyes, he thought of the young man fighting powerful enemies in the outer world.
"You are my treasure, Ichigo."
Beloved child, the world you fight in is drenched in dark, cold rain. There's no way to clear it away, so I've locked away your overflowing power and kept you distant from battle.
But he sought power anyway.
For the comrades he must protect. For the benefactor he must save. He wished to the man: "I want to win."
"...From now on, you'll be swept up in the tides of the era whether you like it or not. And once the gears begin turning, no one can stop them anymore."
So at least until that time...
Is it my selfishness to keep you in a world without conflict?
The man's unanswered question echoed hollowly through the solitary world.
✦ ✦ ✦
The hilltop positioned at the Seireitei's center, commonly called Sōkyoku Hill. Within one of the countless great fissures running through it, there was a secret cavern carved into the rock face. In that training ground once created by Kisuke Urahara, Kurosaki Ichigo was hiding.
His purpose was singular: to achieve Bankai through liberation training, so he could defeat the Gotei 13 captain Byakuya Kuchiki who sought to execute his benefactor.
"...Dammit."
The trial using the special spiritual tool Tenshintai allowed only three days. Time was already short enough, but struggling Ichigo's ears received dire news—his benefactor Rukia Kuchiki's execution had been moved up to tomorrow at noon.
If I just finish by today, that's all there is to it.
Though the young man had declared this boldly, as time drew near, his breathing only grew more ragged. A great wall stood before him that willpower alone couldn't overcome.
Unable to sleep through his final night of rest, spending it in restless frustration, Ichigo swung his Zanpakutō alone in the training room, trying to dispel his burning impatience.
"Gotta hurry... but I can't...!"
This was the Zanpakutō's ultimate secret technique that took even talented individuals ten years to master. He understood it wasn't power easily obtained. Even so, Ichigo...
"Shit... Move, dammit...!"
Clatter—the blade fell from his arms. His trembling fingertips were covered in burst and torn blisters, the bandages wrapped around them dyed completely crimson from end to end. His vision blurred, and finally even his legs gave out, bringing him to his knees.
"I'll save her...! I'm the one... who has to rescue her...!"
Irritation. Anxiety. Frustration at his own inadequacy. The blade he swung in this negative spiral grew dull, and his body, battered from days of recklessness, became heavy as lead.
Unable to rest, unable to move forward. As wasted time passed with only pointless exertion and exhaustion of his body, Ichigo crawled on the ground, his mind going blank with maddening fatigue and desperation.
"Do you want power?"
The woman appeared suddenly.
In his extreme state where he couldn't distinguish reality from illusion, a young-sounding female voice echoed through his head, rousing his dazed consciousness slightly.
"...Who... are you—"
A small, pure white silhouette with hazy outlines. When Ichigo directed his gaze toward what seemed to be her head, he froze involuntarily.
"What..."
A mask. And one he'd seen several times recently—a white mask.
The girl who appeared abruptly before Ichigo wore that strange mask that had protected him from Renji's and Kenpachi's strikes. It had the exact same shape and design, a completely white mask with only the patterns missing.
"Do you want the power to save her?"
A quiet, repeated question.
A voice he felt he'd heard somewhere, a girl he felt he'd met somewhere, offered him a choice.
Relying on that faint sense of déjà vu, Ichigo forgot his wariness and confusion, unconsciously reaching out toward her.
"...I want... power..."
Was it delirium voiced by his obsession? Or had he realized somewhere in his heart? To the mysterious girl's words—her name and identity unclear—Ichigo clung instinctively.
"...Please... I..."
I don't want anyone to die. Not the comrades who trusted and followed me, not the people I met, and not Rukia, who's being forced to die because of me.
I want to...
"I want the power to protect them!!"
That was the young man's essence. His way of life.
Hating his powerless self who let his precious mother die, intensely fearing repeating that same tragedy—the desperate wish of one who knew sorrow. Not courage or madness, but a thirst for power summoned by trauma burned into his soul in childhood.
Disappointment? Sympathy? What did the girl see in the young man's cowardly heart?
Her warning told the answer.
"...So you'll accept this half-baked choice?"
Ichigo responded to the masked girl in white with determined eyes.
He was getting stronger. He'd defeated Ikkaku Madarame, defeated Renji Abarai, defeated Kenpachi Zaraki to reach this point. Even since starting Bankai training, he could feel his spiritual pressure rising constantly. Swordsmanship, movement techniques, hand-to-hand combat, the tactical exchanges that used them effectively—everything was incomparably better than before.
But it wasn't enough. He was still lacking.
The enemy was massive and unshakable, and the time to catch up to them was running out moment by moment. To bridge this enormous gap he couldn't close even while whittling away at himself—he had no choice but to rely on memories from the distant past.
"...Very well."
Did his determination get through? The girl slowly placed her right hand on the young man's body.
Then that slender finger pierced through his chest without any resistance.
"Ah...?"
Click...
That same small sound from before resonated through his entire body, followed by some abominable thing welling up from somewhere inside, beginning to corrode his heart, his soul.
"Ah... ahh... AAAH!?"
Ichigo remembered this sensation. Before challenging the Soul Society, when that shady shopkeeper in the World of the Living forcibly awakened him to Shinigami power. It was that white distortion of fear and despair, like his own ego was disappearing.
But this speed was incomparable to last time. As the young man futilely released voiceless screams from his throat, without even time to recognize his own destruction, he relinquished all consciousness he'd carried for fifteen years and—
"Stop."
Snap.
So abruptly that such an onomatopoeia seemed audible, Ichigo's vision suddenly returned. A strange awakening, like waking from a dream. Unable to keep up emotionally with the dizzying changes in circumstances, the young man simply spun in confusion.
"That child will only stay quiet for a little while. You'll soon face your first trial."
Suddenly, the girl's voice reached Ichigo's ears. Looking up, her face was hidden by the mask, yet the faintly visible eyes held the curve of a gentle smile.
The girl's right hand stroked the young man's head. Just like that time, as if lulling a small child with heavy eyelids to sleep.
It'll be okay. You can do this.
With those final words, Ichigo was enveloped by the drowsiness summoned by his peaceful heart.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Ichigo! Ichigo!"
When his eyes snapped open, the young man Kurosaki Ichigo was lying down in the small private room of the secret training area. Looking around, he hurriedly sat up and checked his condition.
Light. The fatigue, exhaustion—everything tormenting him had vanished like an illusion.
"Huh? What did I..."
"...Do you not remember what happened last night?"
Looking beside him, Yoruichi wore a difficult expression, muttering "Could it be... no..." while toying with a strange white fragment at her fingertips.
When he asked what she meant, apparently his entire body had been covered by that white plaster-like substance. By the time Yoruichi rushed over in a panic, the shell had already begun weathering, and what remained in her hand was carelessly tossed aside.
A white plaster-like substance. Though he had no memory of the object itself, Ichigo had a vague inkling that something major had changed in him last night.
"...Well, never mind that now. There's no time left until the execution—hurry up, shovel down some food and restart your Bankai training!"
While Yoruichi urged him on, Ichigo sensed something welling up within his body since awakening. Power incomparably greater than yesterday, almost overwhelming.
Do you want power?
That's right—he remembered. Ichigo's eyes widened in realization.
It had been catching in the corner of his mind since the other day.
When he'd lost once to Kenpachi Zaraki, old man Zangetsu had taken Ichigo to his inner world from before. There he met a young man.
A pure white figure with inverted colors—Kurosaki Ichigo himself.
Ever since seeing that form. No, ever since first meeting the Shinigami Rukia, what had been stuck deep in his heart finally thawed.
"White... kimono..."
That's right.
What that mysterious girl from those hazy memories six years ago had worn was a Shihakushō — one with inverted colors, like that other self — an unusual, otherworldly outfit based in white.
"Why..."
But the mystery only deepened.
The violent, aggressive white self, and the completely opposite gentle girl who stroked his head.
Why did that girl wear the same clothes as him? What was their relationship? Why did she appear before him again wearing that mask?
And what did she do to my body—what does she know about Kurosaki Ichigo that I myself don't...
Dazed and blank in his futon, Ichigo timidly touched his chest where the girl had pierced him. Just like six years ago, there was no abnormality.
But when he focused his awareness, the unsettled feeling in his heart told the young man that something different from before had occurred within him.
"Oi, Ichigo! What are you doing? There's no time!"
"Y-yeah!"
Shaking off his uneasy turmoil, Ichigo stood up. His physical condition was excellent, and power surged through him like never before. If he just cast aside his doubts, he'd definitely achieve Bankai by noon.
Clenching his fists with determination, Kurosaki Ichigo ran toward the training grounds where Yoruichi waited.
In his hand, unnoticed, he gripped the residue of those dark crimson spirit threads that had scattered and dissipated.
[Author's Notes]
SS arc, finished... As expected of the biggest showcase scene, it was incredibly fun to write. Ecstasy really is wonderful ♡
This Etsumori isn't the Mapo Priest type who enjoys watching Shiro-chan's moment of destruction, but the Toppo type who prepares thorough aftercare and harvests repeatedly to enjoy semi-permanently.
Etsumori-san is a pervert with twisted affection who believes Shiro-chan's greatest charm is his anguished face and wants to draw it out—he has (!?) zero malicious intent in his own mind, so Shiro-chan's revival is all according to plan. Rather, that's exactly why he brought the caring Rangiku together with him.
Next time starts the Arrancar arc. I want Momo-chan to go wild... Please look forward to it!