This is a translated novel, if you find any mistakes in the names of people, places, or techniques used and you want me to correct them, then let me know in the comments paragraph.
---
Modern day, Tokyo, Karakura Town—
"I'm dead?"
Kurosaki Ichigo stared at his own body being lifted onto the ambulance, blood soaking the pavement beneath the overpass. His pupils trembled as shock froze him in place.
None of the bystanders gave him a second glance.
Because he was now freshly minted as a "whole"—in other words, a soul.
Normal humans couldn't see him.
The only ones who could were other souls.
"Yeah, you died pretty miserably. Got sent flying a few dozen meters by a dump truck, then run over again. Flattened like a carpet."
The one speaking sat on the curb.
He looked no older than seventeen or eighteen.
His figure was lean and balanced—not too thin, not too bulky.
He carried an air of calm around him.
If he wore black-rimmed glasses, he would've looked like the harmless class bookworm.
Add in a serious lecture face, and he'd easily annoy the opposite sex.
Yet, the biting black humor in his words revealed his sharp edge.
His eyes, bright and piercing, gave off a strange impression—not quite that of a scholar, but of someone who understood far more than he let on.
"Damn it, where the hell did that dump truck even come from? And don't remind me how I died, I'll puke!"
The orange-haired boy—who was supposed to be starting high school soon—had always done surprisingly well in his studies. But no matter how he thought about it, he never imagined he'd get hit by a truck outside a convenience store.
Even if someone wanted to murder him, it was impossible to have a dump truck waiting at exactly the right spot.
And for it to appear without a single sound?
It was like it popped out of nowhere.
And there wasn't even a driver.
This was practically a supernatural incident!
"Well, since you don't want to talk about your death, let's change the subject. My name is Shinomiya Takashi, soon-to-be university student. Since we're in the same boat, let's get along."
Shinomiya stood and brushed the dust from his clothes.
"Kurosaki Ichigo, soon-to-be high school student… wait, you said 'same boat,' does that mean—"
Ichigo stopped mid-sentence.
"Yeah. You're not the only one who died from getting hit."
Shinomiya admitted without hesitation.
These days, even transmigration was going high-tech.
It used to be lightning bolts. Now it was trucks.
And in his case, twice.
The first time—
He had been happily eating hotpot and singing birthday songs, but apparently the gods had joined the party too, and gifted him this "present."
He was run into another world: Tokyo, in a slice-of-life crossover.
He became the son of a powerful conglomerate family.
And as a reincarnator, life was smooth sailing—he was admired everywhere he went.
One summer break, on a whim, he decided to travel to Chiba.
But it seemed God saw through his pervy intentions. Another dump truck came, forcefully changing his plans—
And also Ichigo's fate.
What good were cheats or bloodline powers when faced with supernatural forces beyond reason?
"Still, if it weren't for this thing, I'd have thought I wasn't dead. It feels completely different from last time."
Shinomiya glanced down at the lock and chain of fate attached to his chest. He plucked at it with his fingers, the metallic sound echoing strangely, sending an odd impulse through him to tear it out.
"You really say the weirdest stuff. Shouldn't you be more emotional at a time like this?"
Ichigo took a deep breath.
"There's nothing to get emotional about. Look at us—we're fine, just without our bodies. It's not necessarily a bad thing.
"Getting hit by a dump truck is basically main character treatment. Maybe next we'll meet some goddess who'll send us to another world."
Shinomiya waved his hand.
The moment the words left his mouth, a traditional Japanese sliding door appeared midair over the sidewalk, glowing faintly.
As it opened, blue butterflies fluttered out, and a petite figure stepped through.
It was a girl.
Black kimono, onion-style bun, delicate face with large eyes—she was undeniably cute. But the sword at her waist and the sharp aura surrounding her carried an unmistakable authority.
"?"
"…"
There was no way to miss someone that conspicuous.
And clearly, the feeling was mutual.
If Shinomiya and Ichigo were simply captivated by her striking appearance, Kuchiki Rukia was outright stunned by the aura the two boys radiated.
From Soul Society to this spiritually barren modern world, even the faintest spiritual pressure should've been like a beacon.
Yet, standing before these two—
She had the illusion she'd never even left Soul Society.
"Their unconscious spiritual pressure blends seamlessly into the ambient reishi, altering the entire atmosphere…"
If a Hollow appeared here, it might even ignore them without realizing.
Rukia's expression grew ever more serious.
She landed on the ground, hand on her sword, stepping toward them with the composed air of an enforcer on duty.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?"
Ichigo tensed, stepping back with a sharp glare.
He failed to notice Shinomiya's "See? Told you the goddess would show up" look.
"No need to be nervous. I'm a Shinigami stationed in Karakura Town. My duty is to send souls of the dead to Soul Society—the resting place of spirits."
"—Though I never expected to find two souls with such high spiritual power right away. You're lucky I came quickly. If I'd been any later, Hollows would've been drawn here, and you'd face something far worse than death."
"Shinigami? Soul Society?"
Ichigo's head was spinning. Two weirdos in a row—his brain couldn't keep up.
"Do Shinigami have regional patrols? You carry swords instead of scythes, kimonos instead of cloaks. If you ran into religious foreigners, wouldn't they reject your image?"
Shinomiya's remark instantly diffused the tension.
"Of course not. I'd use force if I had to. They wouldn't have time to object before being sent down."
Rukia, momentarily surprised, puffed her chest with self-assurance.
Despite her noble air, her tone was slippery like a seasoned trickster.
"Wait—you don't mean 'sent down' as in hell, right?! How do we know you're legit? And you—aren't you just an elementary schooler? Doesn't exactly inspire confidence when the 'Shinigami' looks like that."
Ichigo frowned suspiciously.
"Shut up. I'm ten times your age. Human brats like you have no right to question my abilities. But since you have potential and may become comrades one day, I'll introduce myself.
"My name is Kuchiki Rukia. You'll learn the greatness of that name in Soul Society soon enough."
"Wait, I still haven't said goodbye to my fam—"
Before Ichigo could finish, Rukia smirked coldly, stepped forward, and with a sharp motion unsheathed her sword—then smacked him on the forehead with the hilt.
He collapsed, swallowed by a rising white glow.
Next was Shinomiya.
He didn't resist at all—like a passenger letting a flight attendant fasten his seatbelt, waiting for takeoff.
After sending them off, Rukia exhaled in relief, leaping atop the overpass to gaze over Karakura's modern cityscape.
Yes, she would complete her mission perfectly, silencing any doubts about her ability.
"I forgot to ask their names… oh well. If they manage to graduate from the Spiritual Arts Academy and join the Gotei 13, we'll meet again. By then, I'll definitely be a lieutenant—if not higher."
"Then I'll make that blond brat experience the authority of a senior. Hmph… how dare he call me an elementary schooler!"