Modern day, Tokyo—Karakura Town.
"I… died?"
Ichigo Kurosaki stared as his body was loaded into the back of an ambulance, the road beneath the overpass still wet and red with his blood. His pupils shook like an earthquake. His brain refused to catch up.
No one in the crowd spared him a glance.
Because he wasn't "Ichigo Kurosaki, student" anymore. He was a freshly made Plus. A soul.
And normal people couldn't see him.
The only ones who could talk to him now… were other souls.
"Yeah, man. Pretty brutal, too. Dump truck came outta nowhere, launched you like fifty feet, then flattened you like a rug."
The voice came from a teenager perched casually on the curb. Seventeen, maybe eighteen.
Tall, lean frame, balanced proportions. Quiet aura that gave off harmless class nerd vibes, the kind of guy you'd expect to be hiding behind black-rimmed glasses with a textbook under his arm. The type who'd lecture you with a straight face until you wanted to scream.
But that pitch-black sense of humor? Definitely the sharper, meaner side of him.
His eyes were way too bright, too piercing, leaving the impression he knew more than he should—without actually looking like a scholar.
"Damn it! Where the hell did that truck even come from? And don't remind me how I died, I'll puke!"
Ichigo, orange-haired freshman-to-be, straight-A material, had never imagined his life would end in front of a convenience store of all places.
Even if someone wanted him dead, sneaking a dump truck into that exact spot without a sound? Impossible.
It was like the thing spawned out of thin air. With no driver. Like some creepy paranormal stunt.
"If you don't wanna talk about it, fine. Different subject." The boy stood up, brushing off his pants. "Name's Soma Kiryu. About to start college. Guess that makes us fellow victims, so… nice to meet you."
"Ichigo Kurosaki. Starting high school." Ichigo hesitated. "Wait—'fellow victims'? You mean…"
"Yeah. You're not the only one who got pancaked."
Soma said it like he was talking about the weather.
Honestly, the whole "isekai truck" trope was getting too on-the-nose these days. Used to be you got struck by lightning. Now it was dump trucks. And for him? Twice.
The first time, he'd been celebrating his birthday with hotpot and karaoke. The gods apparently decided to join in and gifted him a truck to the face.
That little present tossed him into a Tokyo straight out of a slice-of-life anime. Born rich. Pampered young master of a corporate empire. Smooth sailing, adored by everyone.
Then one summer trip to Chiba, he let some questionable thoughts slip, and—bam. God sent in Truck-kun for round two. Wiped the board clean.
And this time, Ichigo got dragged down with him.
Not that any cheat skills or "special bloodlines could stand up to the absurdity of cosmic-level narrative forces.
"Honestly, if it weren't for this…" Soma tapped the padlock over his chest, the broken Chain of Fate dangling halfway down. It jingled with a sharp, unnatural sound. "…I wouldn't even believe I was dead. Totally different from last time."
The sensation made his skin crawl, like he might rip the chain out just to make it stop.
"You… talk in the weirdest way," Ichigo muttered, exhaling hard. "Most people would be freaking out right now."
"Nothing to freak over. We're fine, aren't we? Just lost our bodies. Could be worse." Soma flicked his wrist like it was nothing. "Besides, you know how these stories go. Getting hit by a dump truck? That's protagonist-tier. Any second now, some goddess is gonna pop up and guide us to another world."
And right on cue—
A glowing, sliding paper door materialized ten meters away, hovering above the sidewalk. It creaked open, blue butterflies drifting out like sparks.
A girl stepped through.
Short. Black kimono. Onion-shaped bun. Pretty face, wide eyes, definitely cute—but the sword at her hip and the sharp, commanding aura rolling off her turned "cute" into "intimidating."
"…?"
Both Ichigo and Soma stared.
And she stared right back.
If the boys were struck dumb by her striking entrance, Rukia Kuchiki was hit harder. Because the atmosphere radiating off these two wasn't normal.
In the world of the living, spiritual energy was scarce. Even a tiny fluctuation stood out like a neon sign.
But standing in front of these two? She could've sworn she was still in Soul Society.
"Their reiatsu is blending unconsciously with the reishi in the air… changing the environment itself…"
Even if a Hollow showed up, it might not notice them at all.
Rukia's eyes narrowed. She landed softly, one hand on her sword, walking toward them with the calm, cold precision of a cop on duty. No hesitation. No politeness.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?" Ichigo shouted, tense, stepping back. He didn't even notice Soma smirking like, See? Told you. Goddess, incoming.
"No need to panic," Rukia said smoothly. "I'm a Shinigami, stationed here in Karakura Town. My job is to guide souls to Soul Society—the resting place of the dead."
She paused, then added, "Though honestly, I didn't expect to run into two high-level souls right away. You're lucky I got here first. Any slower and Hollows would've found you. And what they'd do to you makes death look merciful."
"Shinigami? Soul Society?" Ichigo was completely lost. Two weirdos in a row, and his brain was fried.
Soma tilted his head. "So… Shinigami are like local security patrols? You've got a katana instead of a scythe, kimono instead of a cloak. Don't foreign believers get freaked out by the whole look?"
The tension cracked.
"Doesn't matter," Rukia sniffed. "If they resist, I use force. They won't have time to complain before I send them down."
Her words didn't match her aristocratic appearance. She sounded more like a seasoned hustler than a noble.
"Wait, wait, wait—you're not saying 'down' as in hell, are you?" Ichigo blurted. "And seriously? A Shinigami that looks like an elementary schooler? No offense, but this is hard to trust."
"Silence." Her eyes sharpened. "I'm ten times your age, brat. You have no right to question me. But since you both have potential—and may one day be colleagues—I'll introduce myself. Rukia Kuchiki. You'll learn the weight of that name soon enough."
"Hold on, I haven't even said goodbye to my—"
Too late.
Rukia stepped forward, face tight with a fake little smile, yanked her sword out, and cracked Ichigo on the forehead with the hilt. His body crumpled, swallowed instantly by the white light rising from the pavement.
Next was Soma.
He didn't even resist. Just stood there like he was letting a flight attendant buckle his seatbelt before takeoff.
Once both boys were gone, Rukia finally exhaled. She hopped onto the overpass, surveying Karakura Town's neon glow.
This posting might've been gilded as "easy," but she'd prove herself with flawless results. No one would dare question her duty.
"Forgot to ask their names…" She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. If they get through the academy and join the Gotei 13, we'll meet again. By then, I'll be a lieutenant. Worst case, a seated officer."
Her lips curved smugly. "That blond brat will eat his words then. Calling me an elementary schooler—hah! Let's see him talk back to his senpai."