[You have died.]
[Rating = E]
[Reward = Basic One-handed Swordmanship, Unnamed Asauchi]
[Next Rebirth Status]
[Physical = None]
[Soul = Low Plus]
[Chakra = Middle Genin]
[Next Rebirth Information]
[Name = Han]
[Path = Normal Plus]
[Location = Rukongai]
"Ughhh!"
Han groaned, his hands instinctively clutching his body, a phantom pain throbbing where he had been fatally struck.
Though he didn't technically need to breathe in this ethereal state, the involuntary gasp was a deep-seated muscle memory, a visceral reaction to his third death.
He sighed, a sound of weary frustration.
"I died... I really don't like this feeling."
Han shook his head in bitter resignation. He felt pathetically fragile.
If he had been someone like Luffy or Zoro, or even Usopp, a wound like that would not kill them.
They would have shaken it off and kept fighting.
But not him. He was just too weak.
Han sighed, the phantom ache in his body a stark reminder of his latest death.
He took a deep breath for one last time to steady himself then he looked at the message.
"Rukongai? So, my next rebirth is in the world of soul, Bleach,"
He mused, a flicker of dread in his spectral eyes.
The thought didn't bring him comfort.
The world of Bleach was far more dangerous for an ordinary soul.
His primary concern was the Hollows—monstrous, soul-eating spirits that preyed on the living and the dead.
He knew from his memories of the series that if a Hollow devoured a soul, that soul would become part of the Hollow's being, their existence erased and their consciousness assimilated.
He shuddered.
The risk was immense, and the thought of being consumed and losing his identity was terrifying.
He grasped for a sliver of hope, something to hold onto.
"But... my cheat. My power. It should be tied to my soul,"
He reasoned, a desperate logic taking hold.
"It's likely I'd still be able to come back, even if a Hollow ate me. My existence can't be so easily erased."
He clung to this belief, a fragile reassurance in the face of an uncertain and terrifying new reality.
After all, if he could be reborn three times already, what was one more brush with oblivion?
"Then I have basic One-handed Swordsmanship skill and Asauchi!"
Han was overjoyed. At least he got a weapon that could be used against soul based enemies.
Then he recalled what Asauchi was.
Asauchi, In the vast and spiritual world of Bleach, the Asauchi were more than just simple swords; they are the very foundation of a Soul Reaper's power and identity.
They were the blank slates, the unwritten stories, that every aspiring Soul Reaper was given during their training at the Shin'ō Academy.
To a novice, an Asauchi appeared as a standard katana, unremarkable in its form and lacking special abilities.
It was an empty vessel, waiting to be filled.
But this emptiness was its greatest strength.
An Asauchi did not choose its wielder; instead, it became a mirror, reflecting and imbuing itself with the very essence of the Soul Reaper who carries it.
Over years of shared battles, training, and spiritual growth, the Asauchi absorbed the user's soul, their unique personality, memories, and spiritual energy.
This process was a profound dance between wielder and blade, a silent conversation that culminates in the birth of a Zanpakutō.
The Zanpakutō, a fully realized Asauchi, was a testament to this deep connection.
It was the physical manifestation of a Soul Reaper's soul, a unique and powerful weapon that cannot be wielded by anyone else.
This transformation was a beautiful metaphor for a Soul Reaper's journey—they start as a blank page, and through their experiences and inner growth, they forge their own unique identity, their own truth.
An Asauchi was the silent partner in this journey, a loyal companion that, with time and dedication, awakened to become a true and powerful extension of its owner's soul.
Han nodded in satisfaction, a small sense of relief washing over him. At least this time, he had something to protect himself with.
"I just hope I don't die too early,"
He murmured to himself.
"I want to live for at least a hundred years."
As a Plus, or wandering soul, he had a significantly longer lifespan than living human beings.
A hundred years was not an extravagant wish; it was a reasonable goal, a testament to his desire for a peaceful and lasting existence after three sudden and violent deaths.
A truck crushed him, a ninja cut his head, a pirate bled him to death.
He was determined to make the most of this life, to not have it cut short again.
…
Rukongai, or the "town of wandering souls," was a sprawling, lawless purgatory for souls who hadn't yet become Soul Reapers or been granted entry into Seireitei, the central and protected city of Soul Society.
It was a place of stark inequality, divided into 320 districts, with the numbers indicating both distance from Seireitei and quality of life.
The lower the district number, the more civilized and prosperous it was, while the higher the number, the more it resembled a desolate, impoverished wasteland.
Life in Rukongai was a brutal, daily struggle for survival.
There was no formal government or law enforcement, so the strong prey on the weak.
The inhabitants were often illiterate and live in a constant state of fear, whether it's from the threat of Hollows—monstrous spirits that devour souls—or from the violent gangs that run rampant in the more remote districts.
While the innermost districts might offer a semblance of peace, the outer districts were a cesspool of crime, famine, and despair.
The districts serve as a harsh social and economic ladder.
The innermost districts, like the first district, were often seen as a stepping stone to Seireitei, and they enjoy a higher standard of living.
However, the further you go from the central city, the more desolate and dangerous life becomes.
The inhabitants of the outer districts were seen as disposable, and their lives were often short and miserable.
They were a forgotten populace, left to fend for themselves while the Soul Reapers lived in relative luxury in Seireitei.
Rukongai was a constant, ugly reminder of the ruthless class system that defines Soul Society.
…
In one of the grittier districts of Rukongai, Han was on the move, his form scavenging for food.
Unlike most Plus, Han was experiencing hunger, a clear sign of his dormant spiritual power and his potential to one day become a Soul Reaper.
However that potential was killing him now.
"Why... Why are you trying to devour me?! Can't I just live peacefully for once!"
Han whispered loudly, his voice tight with frustration as he clutched the hilt of his Asauchi.
The blade was relentlessly siphoning his Reiryoku, or soul energy, at a terrifying pace.
He knew the Asauchi needed his spiritual energy to evolve into a unique Zanpakutō, but this felt less like a partnership and more like a parasitic relationship.
He was on the verge of fading away completely, his spiritual form becoming too weak to sustain itself.
Even then he couldn't just abandon the Asauchi.
"I can't leave it at my shabby house,"
He muttered.
"Unless I want it to be stolen."
His home was a mere shell of a building, a derelict shack with no door to protect his few meager belongings.
In a place as dangerous as Rukongai, leaving a valuable blade like an Asauchi unguarded was a true death sentence.
"Hey, isn't he the one who beat those bastards?"
A bewildered Plus whispered to his companion, his eyes fixed on Han.
Han had become a local legend in his district.
He possessed a basic swordsmanship skill and, more importantly, an Asauchi, which gave him a significant edge over the common riffraff.
Thugs and bandits, who normally terrorized the weak, were no match for him.
He had even managed to fend off a small size Hollow that had wandered into his district, a feat that no ordinary Plus could accomplish.
This made Han a figure of both fear and respect.
No sane Plus would be foolish enough to cross someone who was clearly on the path to becoming a Soul Reaper.
His spiritual energy and fighting prowess marked him as a powerful individual, one to be avoided or, for the more desperate, to be looked to for protection.
Han, exhausted and famished, didn't notice the attention he was drawing.
His focus was entirely on surviving the relentless draining of his spiritual energy by the Asauchi.
"I... I'm so hungry,"
He whispered, his body swaying from weakness.
He was on the verge of collapse when a young girl with long, wavy hair appeared before him.
'Rangiku?'
He thought, a jolt of recognition hitting him.
He remembered her from the anime, a significant figure in the world of Soul Society.
She offered him a dried persimmon, a simple yet invaluable act of kindness in the harsh world of Rukongai.
Han was far too weak to refuse, so he accepted the offering and devoured it.
"Thank you,"
He said, his voice thick with gratitude.
"You've saved my life."
The small piece of fruit, while not enough to fully sustain him, gave him the strength he needed to keep going.
"You're not that scary,"
Rangiku said, her eyes filled with curiosity.
"I heard rumors about you, but they seem to be exaggerated."
Han knew his reputation was growing, with both good and bad stories circulating.
He didn't care about any of it, though.
His only goals were to become stronger, to survive, and to one day die a meaningful, long-lived death.
"Yep, rumors are always exaggerated,"
He replied simply.
Rangiku nodded thoughtfully, a new idea forming in her mind.
"Can you teach me swordsmanship? I want to follow my friend."
Han immediately knew who she was talking about.
It had to be Gin.
He realized that Gin must have already left Rangiku to join the Shin'o Academy, the very place he was being asked to help her reach.
This request wasn't just about learning to fight; it was about her desperate desire to reunite with her friend, no matter the cost.
"Gin will likely graduate from the academy within a year. You won't see him even if you join later; he's considered a genius."
Han couldn't bring himself to say this, and he looked around.
Many eyes were on her, full of malicious intent.
He couldn't allow his benefactor to be harmed.
"Alright, But it's too dangerous to do it here. Follow me."
Han turned and began to walk, his pace slow but determined, leading her away from the crowded street and into the winding back alleys.
The malicious stares followed them for a moment before the shadows of the narrow pathways consumed them.
Rangiku followed without hesitation, her small hand clutching the remnants of the dried persimmon.
The rumors she had heard painted a picture of a fearsome warrior, but the man walking in front of her seemed more like a desperate survivor than a legend.
He was gaunt, his movements weary, and his spiritual energy, though potent, felt frayed and unstable.
He led her to a secluded, broken-down area, a far cry from the bustling streets of the district.
It was a place where only the most desperate would dare to live, its crumbling walls offering little protection from the elements or the prying eyes of others.
This, was his home.
"This is it,"
He said, his voice a low rumble.
"This is where I live. We can practice around here."
Rangiku's eyes widened slightly as she took in the squalor of the shack, but her expression quickly returned to one of resolve.
"Okay,"
She said, her voice clear and strong.
Han walked over to a corner and set the Asauchi down, leaning it against the wall.
The moment the blade left his hand, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
The relentless draining of his spiritual energy ceased, and he could feel his body and mind stabilize, even if only slightly.
"I'm too weak to teach you anything right now,"
He admitted, his gaze falling to the ground.
"But I will, once I'm recovered. Come back tomorrow."
Rangiku looked at him, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but she nodded.
"Alright. Thank you."
She turned to leave, but then paused, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"That sword of yours… It looks powerful. What is it?"
Han hesitated for a moment, wondering how much he should reveal to her.
"It's an Asauchi,"
He said, deciding on a partial truth.
"A soul sword. It's supposed to help me become a Soul Reaper one day."
Rangiku's eyes lit up.
"Oh, I see. That's what my friend wants to do, too. To become a Soul Reaper."
The words struck a chord with Han.
He had seen his path as a solitary one in this life, a struggle for survival against the harsh realities of Rukongai before death eventually claimed him.
But now, he saw a glimmer of a different path. He might die more meaningfully.
"I will teach you,"
Han said, his voice firm, his earlier exhaustion forgotten.
"I'll teach you everything I know. But you must promise me one thing."
Rangiku's eyes met his, her gaze unwavering.
"What is it?"
"Don't ever stop fighting."
He didn't know why he said it, but the words felt right.
It was a promise he was making to himself as much as he was to her.
In a world where even survival was a luxury, the will to fight was the only thing that mattered.
Rangiku smiled, a genuine, childlike smile that pierced through the grim reality of their surroundings.
"I promise."
With that, she turned and disappeared into the night, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the alley.
Han was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of his Asauchi a stark reminder of the path he had chosen.
He knew it would be a long, arduous journey, but for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel so alone.
He lay down on the cold floor of the shack, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.
…
For three months, Han had been teaching Rangiku swordsmanship.
In the process, he had grown stronger himself, but his Asauchi still showed no signs of awakening.
"I have nothing more to teach you,"
He said, a sense of pride swelling in his chest as he looked at her.
"I think they will accept you this time."
To Han, Rangiku had become like a little sister, a precious connection in a world where he had been utterly alone.
'At least I'm not alone in this world anymore,'
He thought, a quiet warmth spreading through him.
Rangiku, however, felt a pang of reluctance.
Their time together had forged a deep attachment.
"Han, why don't you come with me to the academy?"
She pleaded, her voice tinged with hope.
Han knew that joining the Shinigami Academy would improve his rating, offering a better reward and rebirth status after death.
But he also knew it would mean facing dangers he wasn't prepared for.
Rangiku, with her immense talent, would be protected, but he won't have the same treatment as her.
He was stronger than a common soul, but still not much more than cannon fodder in the face of true threats.
He would likely die far sooner in the structured, dangerous environment of the academy than he would wandering the streets of Rukongai.
"I'm sorry, but I have my own path,"
Be said, his voice gentle but firm.
"But I promise we'll meet again someday."
"Really? You're not just saying that to get me to leave, are you?"
Rangiku's sharp question made him laugh.
She was a quick and clever child, and he couldn't hide the truth from her completely.
A small, tearful smile touched her lips.
"You're so mean..."
She said softly, before her expression softened completely.
"But thank you for everything."
She said goodbye to him before setting off to Seireitei.
Han unknowingly planted his own death flag.
That was the last time they ever saw each other.
Han didn't even last a year after saying goodbye to Rangiku.
His life, which he had fought so hard to preserve, was cut short by a monstrous Hollow.
The name of the beast echoed in his final, dying thoughts: Grand Fisher.
'Aizen, you crazy shit bastard…'
Han's mind screamed in silent rage.
Aizen had undoubtedly learned of him, a soul carrying an Asauchi, and became curious.
But when Aizen discovered that Han was little more than a powerful Plus—a human soul still tethered to its former life—his interest vanished.
Han wasn't a potential Shinigami or a threat to be managed.
His struggle, his training, his very existence, meant nothing to the man.
Han's life was nothing more than a curiosity that had outlived its purpose.
His fate was sealed. He became mere food for Aizen's twisted "pet project," a stepping stone in a grand, sinister plan.
In the end, his strength was not enough to save him from being a footnote in someone else's evil design.