Three years later—Canon timeline begins
Lavairiis Kurosaki, age eleven, sat cross-legged in his room with his sketchbook open across his lap. Around him, carefully organized in protective sleeves, were dozens of completed drawings—his arsenal.
Over three years of practice, he'd learned the rules of his Fullbring:
Rule One: He could only summon what he could draw clearly and completely. Half-finished sketches produced unstable, useless creations.
Rule Two: Each summon was temporary. Simple ones like Kirby could last hours. Complex ones like Artorias drained him in minutes.
Rule Three: Once a drawing was used, it was consumed. He'd need to redraw it to use it again, which meant his skill as an artist directly impacted his combat ability.
Rule Four: The creations followed his commands but retained their essential nature. A healing fairy would heal. A warrior would fight. He couldn't make Kirby act bloodthirsty or force Artorias to run away.
**Rule Five—**and this was the strangest—the more he understood a character, the stronger they manifested. Playing their games, watching their stories, studying their lore... it all mattered. Knowledge was power, literally.
Which is why he'd spent three years begging Isshin for game consoles, scouring the internet, and filling notebook after notebook with character studies.
His current project: a sketch of Samus Aran in her Power Suit. He was trying to capture the exact proportions of the arm cannon, the way the orange armor plating overlapped...
"Lavairiis! Dinner!"
Ichigo's voice carried up the stairs. His older brother was twelve now, his scowl somehow fiercer, his orange hair brighter. He'd grown into his role as protective older sibling with the intensity of someone who'd made it his life's mission.
Last week, Ichigo had gotten into a fight with three high schoolers who'd been picking on a ghost—a little girl's spirit that only he and Lavairiis could see. He'd come home with a black eye and a lecture from Masaki, but also with a fierce pride in his eyes.
He's going to be amazing, Lavairiis thought, not for the first time. When this all starts, when Rukia comes... he's going to become something incredible.
That thought carried strange weight, like déjà vu. Sometimes Lavairiis would know things—know that something important was coming, that their lives were building toward some crucial moment. The memories of his past life were getting clearer, piece by piece.
He was starting to remember being someone older. Someone who'd watched a show called Bleach.
Someone who knew that Ichigo Kurosaki was the protagonist.
"Coming!" Lavairiis called back, carefully storing his Samus sketch. Not ready yet. He needed to get the arm cannon details perfect, or she might manifest without her weapons.
He bounded downstairs to find the usual chaos: Isshin trying to tackle-hug Ichigo (and getting kicked in the face for his trouble), Masaki laughing while setting the table, and his little sisters—Karin and Yuzu, now six years old—arguing about whose turn it was to say grace.
"Lava-nii!" Yuzu spotted him first, using the nickname she'd invented. "Tell Karin it's my turn!"
"It's not, she went yesterday!" Karin protested.
Lavairiis slid into his seat and smiled at both of them. "How about you both say it together?"
The compromise was met with enthusiasm, and dinner proceeded with the usual warmth and noise. Lavairiis caught Isshin watching him over the rice bowls, a knowing look in his eye.
Later, after the girls were in bed, Isshin caught him in the hallway.
"How's the training going, kiddo?"
"Good. I can maintain two simple summons simultaneously now. Three if they're really small." Lavairiis kept his voice low. "I've been practicing with Pokémon—Pikachu and Squirtle together."
"And the big ones?"
"Still risky. Artorias takes too much. But I've been working on others. Characters that are strong but not... not god-tier, you know?" He thought of his completed sketches: Link from Zelda, Mega Man, Shovel Knight. Heroes that were powerful but not reality-warping.
Isshin nodded approvingly. "Smart. Build up your stamina with mid-tier summons before attempting anything crazy." He hesitated, then added, "Masaki told me Grand Fisher escaped that night. It's still out there."
"I know." Lavairiis had seen it twice since then, always at a distance, watching. Waiting. The Hollow held a grudge.
"If you ever see it again—"
"I tell you or Mom immediately. I know, Dad. I promise." He'd learned his lesson about trying to be a hero. That first night had been desperation and luck. Next time, he'd be smarter.
Isshin ruffled his hair. "Good kid. Now get some sleep. School tomorrow."
As Lavairiis lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he felt the weight of knowledge pressing on him. His memories were almost complete now. He knew what was coming.
Rukia Kuchiki would arrive soon. Ichigo would gain Shinigami powers. And the story he'd once watched as entertainment would become his reality.
But it's already different, he thought. Mom's alive. That changes everything.
He didn't know if that was good or bad. Butterfly effects were unpredictable.
All he knew for certain was this: he was Ichigo's little brother. And when the time came, he'd stand beside him—armed with a sketchbook full of heroes, ready to draw them into being.
No matter what came through that door.