When the man opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was how different the world felt.
The air was heavy and dry, carrying a faint metallic tang mixed with smoke and decay. Overhead, the sky stretched in a pale, washed-out gray, with a weak sun struggling to shine through the haze.
"Where... am I?" he muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper.
He was no longer in the clothes he remembered from his life on Earth. Instead, he wore tattered, coarse robes—the kind worn by the poorest souls in this desolate place. Before he could make sense of his new reality, harsh sounds cut through the air: cruel laughter and shouting. Nearby, a group of men tormented someone weaker, their voices sharp and mocking.
Pushing himself upright, he noticed how his body felt—lighter, almost insubstantial, yet sluggish and unsteady at the same time. His limbs trembled as if they didn't quite belong to him.
"What is this place?" he whispered, his breathing shallow.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall who he was and how he had ended up here. Flashes of vague memories surfaced—modern buildings, bright lights, the hum of a busy city—but they slipped away like water through his fingers. Then, a new sensation hit him with the force of a physical blow: hunger. It wasn't ordinary hunger. It was a gnawing, hollow emptiness that burrowed deep inside him, scattering his thoughts and leaving him dizzy. The sensation was so overwhelming he couldn't even recall his own name.
He staggered to his feet. Food... I need to eat, a desperate thought echoed in his mind.
But when he finally took in his surroundings, the sight stopped him cold. Everywhere he looked were the skeletal remains of a life barely holding together. Dilapidated shacks leaned precariously, built from scavenged wood, rusted metal, and broken stone. The ground was a cracked patchwork of dirt withered by neglect, with only a few stubborn weeds pushing through the cracks—the sole signs of life.
Lost in a daze, he didn't notice one of the bullies approaching until a rough voice shattered the silence. "Oi, you!" the thug barked, stopping a few feet away, swinging a crude wooden stick over his shoulder. "Hand over whatever food you've got."
The man slowly lifted his head, his golden eyes—cold and utterly emotionless—locking on the thug like a predator sizing up its prey. The bully froze, an involuntary shiver running down his spine. Those eyes weren't just cold; they were deadly, the gaze of a man looking at a corpse that hadn't yet realized it was dead. The thug's bravado crumbled. His grip on the stick tightened, but his knees trembled.
"Tch... poor bastard," he muttered, feigning indifference as he backed away. Without another word, he turned and hurried off, choosing an easier target rather than testing his luck.
The man didn't move. He simply stared after him, his expression unreadable. He didn't realize that when he looked at the thug earlier he unconsciously released his Reiatsu (Spiritual Pressure) which scared the thug who has low level of Reiatsu.
This was District 76 of Rukongai, one of the farthest and most dangerous outer districts. There were no Soul Reapers patrolling here, no semblance of order. The strong preyed on the weak, and violence wasn't the exception—it was survival. Hunger and desperation ruled this place. Many souls lingered for centuries with barely enough spiritual energy to sustain themselves, existing in a constant state of decay. Gangs and criminals flourished in the shadows, and even whispers of Hollows occasionally reaching these parts only added to the fear.
The man stood in silence, the faint wind carrying the smell of ash and rot, his empty stomach twisting painfully.
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One Week Later
~MC POV~
It's been a week since I woke up in this strange place.
After my initial encounter with those thugs, survival quickly became my only priority. My first few days were a blur of hunger and confusion. Desperation drove me to steal a few meager coins from distracted passersby, just enough to buy scraps of food. At the time, I couldn't think straight with my stomach clawing at itself.
Once that gnawing emptiness was finally quieted, my mind began to clear—at least enough to start piecing things together. I spent the next several days wandering these broken streets, observing the people, listening to their conversations, trying to make sense of where I was.
Every time I tried to remember my past, it felt like my memories were playing on fast-forward, images flashing too quickly for me to focus. No matter how hard I tried, they slipped away before I could grasp them. In the end, only two truths remained clear to me:
My name is Itsuki Hakuto, and I am dead.
Technically, I died in the human world. When humans die, their souls are sent to this realm—Soul Society. And the place I currently find myself in is a region known as Rukongai.
From what I've learned, Rukongai is vast and sprawling, divided into 320 districts—eighty districts in each cardinal direction: North, South, East, and West. The numbering starts at the center, where the Soul Reapers and the Seireitei reside, and increases the farther you go out.
The higher the number, the worse the living conditions. The outer districts decay into lawless slums where survival is brutal and fleeting. Naturally, I ended up in one of the worst places imaginable: District 76 of East Rukongai, a place so far from the center.
Over the past week, I've noticed something strange about the people here. Families aren't bound by blood. Most groups are made up of people who found one another out of necessity rather than true relation.
It makes sense, in a way. People die at different times and places, and when they cross over, they're rarely sent to the same location as their loved ones. When a soul first arrives in Soul Society, they're given a kind of ticket—a strange, unseen designation that determines when and where they'll be sent.
Even if two people die together, if their tickets are different, they'll never arrive in the same place. They could be sent to opposite ends of Rukongai, never knowing if the other even survived.
It's a harsh reality, but one everyone here seems to accept without question.
As for me… I have no memories of loved ones, no family to search for. All I have is my name, the knowledge that I'm dead.