Soul Society, West Rukon District 1, The Verdant Grove.
Sigong Zun opened his eyes to an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. He lay still for a moment, letting the silence of this new world settle over him before rising from his futon. He changed into the clean, simple yukata left for him and slid open the door to the courtyard.
"Up already, Kurosaki?"
He found the orange-haired boy by the well, splashing his face with cold water.
"Couldn't sleep," Ichigo mumbled, draping a towel over his shoulders. A closer look revealed the dark, bloodshot rings under his eyes, a testament to a restless night.
"That's a poor way to repay the elder's kindness," Sigong said, stretching lazily.
The sunlight that filled the courtyard was brilliant, almost dazzling. Sigong narrowed his eyes, committing the impossibly high, distant sky of this other world to memory. The air was crisp and clean, free of any hint of industrial pollution, carrying only the scent of earth and wood. Surrounded by traditional Japanese longhouses, it felt as though they had been thrown back in time to the Edo period.
This was the Soul Society, the land of the dead.
Thanks to the Shinigami, Rukia, they had been sent to one of the safest districts in Rukongai. They were taken in by a respected local elder, and far from being treated as outcasts, they were given shelter, clean clothes, and food. Their first day in the afterlife had been surprisingly peaceful.
"Let's be clear," Ichigo said, his voice tight. "I don't mind the simple living conditions."
"Then you're worried about failing the entrance exam?"
"You're too damn perceptive!"
From his sharp reaction, Sigong knew he'd hit the mark.
"Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "You won't end up like that Hisagi Shūhei fellow the elder mentioned, failing the exam twice. Besides, he's a vice-captain now, isn't he? A truly inspiring tale of perseverance."
The previous day, the elder had patiently explained the basics of the Soul Society. After witnessing Rukia's power firsthand, Ichigo had become fixated on the idea of becoming a Shinigami. As luck would have it, enrollment for the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy was still open. If they signed up now, they could just make it in.
The elder, a kind and open-minded man, had been supportive despite the mixed reputation Shinigami held in Rukongai. He had even offered them some advice, mentioning a current high-ranking officer who had once failed the entrance exam. Sigong understood the elder's intent: a bit of encouragement, a well-intentioned platitude to assure them that failure wasn't the end.
But the story seemed to have the opposite effect on Ichigo.
"If I can help it, I don't want to wait another year… It's not that I'm impatient, it's just…" His voice faded into an uncertain silence, the words lost before he could fully form them. The frown etched onto his face seemed to have become a permanent fixture.
Sigong walked over with his own towel, patting Ichigo on the shoulder before nudging him aside to wash his own face. "The people of Rukongai come from all walks of life. If there was some kind of background check, we might be screened out. But we're different. We've had a modern education, our records are clean, and we're law-abiding to a fault. We're model citizens." He paused, then added with a wry twist of his lips, "The only thing we have to worry about is that people like us are the easiest to bully."
"Well… you've got a point," Ichigo admitted, his fighting spirit returning. "If I don't get in this time, I'll find another way. The elder said some squads have special recruitment channels. All you need is a Zanpakutō and enough strength. But I wonder if they'd look down on me for showing up with some random sword to challenge a real Shinigami."
Just as Sigong was about to reply, a line of stark, ink-black text materialized in his vision.
[A Transgressor of Worlds, who upon arrival, didst partake in the felling of the Era's Chosen, the Child of Destiny. The Engine of Fate delights in this outcome…]
Who? Who says I murdered Ichigo? Sigong fumed internally, though his expression remained placid. Even for a cosmic system, this is blatant character assassination.
[Thy bold performance hath earned the respect of this world. A welcoming gift awaits. Wilt thou accept?]
He thought for a moment, then gave his mental assent. Accept.
[Thou hast obtained the Blood of the Fairy Tale Dragon: Cinderella. Thy physical abilities are greatly enhanced. Thy potential for growth hath increased by 1000%.]
A strange, singular heartbeat echoed in his chest.
Thump.
Outwardly, nothing had changed. But inside, Sigong felt a new power coiling within him, entangling itself with his native spiritual energy before merging and swelling into something greater. His grip felt stronger, his breathing deeper. The thought of lifting the heavy wooden bucket by the well felt as effortless as picking up a grain of sand. This wasn't the kind of strength a soul developed through training; this felt more like an innate, primal talent. The only thing comparable might be the raw power of a high-density Hollow.
And the growth potential… a thousand percent increase. Ten times the normal rate of progress. That was the true mark of a genius—not just possessing greater potential, but the ability to realize it at an astonishing speed.
So, have I become a Dragon? Or one of the Dragonclad?
He knew that in the European branch of this world, another organization existed in opposition to the Soul Society, one that dealt with dragons and their wielders. And in a world like this, hybrids were the ultimate answer to power. Most Shinigami, Hollows, Quincies, and Fullbringers were limited by the nature of their own power. The true path to transcendence—the path Aizen had chosen, and perhaps his own future path—was to break free of those constraints, to merge disparate powers until one rose above all creation.
Bending down, Sigong splashed the cold well water on his face, hiding his expression. As the water dripped from his cheeks, his eyes seemed to glint with a newfound clarity, polished to a mirror-like sheen. But that was a concern for another time. For now, there was only one goal.
He had to be admitted to the Academy and become a Shinigami.
"Good luck on the exam," he said, straightening up.
"Thanks," Ichigo replied.
After a simple breakfast, they bid farewell to the elder and the children who had gathered to see them off. With the passes they had been given, they made their way to the Seireitei and stood before the gates of the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy. The ancient plaque above the entrance, weathered by centuries, filled them both with a sense of nervous excitement.
"Kurosaki."
"Yeah?"
"See? I was right."
"Right about what?"
"Getting hit by a truck is the classic hero's opening," Sigong said with the certainty of a scholar. "Then a goddess shows up to send you to another world."
"Let's just say you're right," Ichigo grumbled, "even if that girl looked nothing like a goddess."
"Want to hear the rest of the prophecy?"
"What?"
"In the new world, you gain immense power, become a hero of the kingdom, defeat the demon king, marry the princess, and live happily ever after."
"…What is this, some kind of video game plot? I'm not a chuuni," Ichigo shot back. "I'm not interested in being a hero or marrying a princess, but I wouldn't mind the rest of it."
"Then let's go. Time to start our campus life in another world."
"I can't believe I have to go to school even after I'm dead," Ichigo muttered. "In a way, this is its own kind of hell."
Despite his words, they both stepped through the gates with a shared sense of anticipation, walking as if the admission letters were already in their hands.
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