Soul Society, West Rukongai, District 1 – Junrin'an.
Shinomiya Takashi opened his eyes, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment before rising from bed. After changing into a clean, plain yukata, he stepped outside.
"Up early, eh, Kurosaki?"
At the courtyard well, he found the orange-haired boy washing up.
"Didn't really sleep much."
Ichigo draped a towel over his shoulder. A closer look revealed red veins in his eyes.
"That's a shame. The elder went to a lot of trouble for us."
Shinomiya stretched lazily.
Sunlight poured down, dazzlingly bright.
Who knew where the sun even hung—far beyond the skies, outer space, or something else entirely?
He narrowed his eyes, engraving the vast foreign sky into memory.
The air filling his lungs was free of industrial pollution, rich with nature's freshness. Combined with the rows of old-fashioned wooden houses, it was as though he'd stepped into Edo-period Japan.
Here lay the Soul Society, the land of the dead.
Thanks to Rukia, they were placed in one of the safest districts.
With the help of a respected local elder, they not only avoided being shunned as outsiders but also received a temporary residence, clean clothes, and food for free.
Thus, they spent their first day in Soul Society peacefully.
"I'll say this up front—I'm not complaining about the living conditions here," Ichigo emphasized.
"Worried about failing the exam?"
"Shut up!"
That reaction alone made it obvious Shinomiya had guessed right.
"Relax, you won't end up like that Hisagi Shūhei guy, failing twice in a row. Besides, he's now a captain-level big shot. An inspiring story if I've ever heard one."
Yesterday, the elder had explained to them in detail the basic common sense of Soul Society.
And ever since witnessing Rukia's powers, Ichigo had already planted a seed in his heart—a strong interest in becoming a Shinigami.
As luck would have it, the enrollment period for this year's Shin'ō Academy wasn't over yet.
They could still catch the final registration.
The choice was obvious.
Though the reputation of Shinigami in Rukongai was mixed, the elder, being open-minded, gave them some guidance when he heard they wanted to apply.
He even mentioned that a certain vice-captain of high standing had once failed the entrance exam.
Shinomiya figured the elder's real intent was to prepare them mentally in advance, offering a bit of "chicken soup for the soul."
Even if they failed, they shouldn't give up—passing on the first try didn't necessarily mean the others were better.
But it seemed none of that reached Ichigo.
"If I can help it, I don't want to wait another year—or even longer… It's not that I lack patience, it's just—"
Ichigo's voice grew weaker and weaker, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
His brow had been furrowed since yesterday, never once loosening.
Shinomiya walked over with a towel in hand, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and nudged him aside to wash up.
"Rukongai's full of all kinds of people. If the exam had a political review section, failing wouldn't be surprising. But we're different—we had modern education, we've got talent, clean records, no troublemaking, good morals… we're the model of honest citizens."
"The only problem with honest folks like us is—we're easy targets to get bullied."
"…Cough, well, you're not wrong. If I do get rejected this time, I'll try another way. The elder said some divisions recruit specially—if you have a Zanpakutō and enough strength, you're in. But… if someone with a found sword from the streets outperformed real Shinigami, wouldn't that make us hated?"
Ichigo quickly regained his fighting spirit.
Shinomiya was about to reply when suddenly, words appeared in the air before his eyes, like ink strokes spreading across smoke.
[As a great transmigrator, you've just taken part in the murder of the Child of Destiny, the Protagonist of the Era. The Machine-Spirit rejoices…]
"Who? Who the hell are you calling Ichigo's murderer?!"
Shinomiya's expression stayed calm, but inside he was furious.
Even if this was his cheat, it couldn't just pass judgment like that! What baseless slander!
[Your bold performance has earned the respect of the world. A gift awaits you. Will you accept it?]
"…Accept."
[——You have obtained Fairy Tale Dragon – Cinderella's Blood. Physical abilities greatly enhanced. Growth rate +1000%.]
Thump.
A strange heartbeat echoed in his chest.
On the surface, nothing seemed different.
But Shinomiya clearly felt a new force emerge within him, intertwining with his existing spiritual power, fusing and amplifying it.
His grip strength increased, his breathing grew stronger—it felt no different from lifting a bucket of water or a grain of sand.
This wasn't the enhanced athleticism of souls refining their spiritual energy through training.
It was more like an innate talent.
Comparable only to a Hollow with a highly compressed and dense soul.
As for the growth rate +1000%…
By Shinomiya's understanding, that probably meant his physical training progress would be ten times faster than before.
This was the mark of true genius—not just possessing potential, but also rapidly realizing it.
"So… does this make me a dragon, or a dragon-host?"
In this world, Europe housed an organization opposed to Soul Society. Dragons and dragon-hosts were their creations.
Although the dragon Shinomiya remembered wasn't particularly strong…
In this world, hybrid bloodlines were always the ultimate answer.
Most Hollows, Shinigami, Quincies, and even Fullbringers weren't actually that overwhelming.
The key was that their powers differed in essence.
Each broke past the limits of the soul in their own way—
Escaping the shackles placed upon life by the world, until surpassing all things, standing above existence itself.
That was the path Aizen had chosen.
And perhaps, one day, it would be his as well.
"…"
Bending down, Shinomiya cupped cold well water in his hands and splashed it onto his face, hiding his expression.
The chilled droplets slid down his cheeks, soaking the strands of hair clinging to his handsome face.
His eyes reflected like polished mirrors, gleaming with clarity.
For now, there was only one matter to focus on.
Passing the Shin'ō Academy entrance exam—and becoming a Shinigami.
"Good luck with your exams."
"Thanks."
After breakfast, they bid farewell to the elder and a few kind-hearted children.
Shinomiya and Ichigo officially set foot into Seireitei, using the travel passes they'd been issued to reach the gates of Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy.
Looking up at the ancient, timeworn plaque, their hearts stirred with excitement.
"Hey, Kurosaki."
"Hm?"
"See? I told you I was right."
"…About what?"
"Getting run over by a dump truck is protagonist treatment. Then a goddess sends you to another world."
"…I'll give you that much, though that person didn't look anything like a goddess."
"Want to hear the rest?"
"The rest of what?"
"The story—gaining great power in another world, defending the kingdom as a hero, slaying the demon lord, marrying the princess, and living happily ever after."
"…That's a game cliché, isn't it? I'm not some chūnibyō, I'm not interested in playing hero, slaying demon lords, or marrying princesses. But… I wouldn't mind some of the other parts."
"Then let's go. Time to start our school life in another world."
"Never thought I'd still have to attend school after dying… in a way, we really did end up in hell."
Despite their words, both stepped through the gates filled with anticipation.
The confidence radiating from their every step made it clear—they already saw their acceptance letters as guaranteed.