We stepped through the gate into blinding light.
For a moment, I could barely process what I was seeing.
The Seireitei stretched out before me like some impossible fusion of ancient Japan and a divine military fortress. Endless white walls towered overhead, polished so clean they almost glowed beneath the sky. Massive corridors cut through the city in sharp geometric lines while layered rooftops and elevated walkways spread out in every direction. It felt less like entering an afterlife and more like stepping into a civilization built specifically to intimidate people.
"Well?" Rukia asked calmly beside me.
I stared openly.
"The Christians definitely got the white buildings part right," I muttered. "And I think I'm realizing how much I appreciate architecture, because this place is insane."
I wasn't usually the tourist type, but this felt like a reasonable exception.
Even as I looked over the Seireitei for the first time, something about it tugged at me strangely. A faint sense of familiarity I couldn't explain.
Déjà vu.
The thought immediately tied a knot in my stomach.
Past life memories? Spiritual instincts? I didn't know, and honestly I didn't want to unpack that right now.
Beside me, I caught the faintest flicker of satisfaction on Rukia's face at my reaction. A small, smug amusement.
It vanished almost instantly.
Her posture straightened, expression smoothing back into the composed professionalism I was starting to recognize as her Soul Reaper persona.
"You can stand there gawking later," she said crisply. "For now, I have orders to carry out. Try not to fall behind."
The shift in tone caught me off guard.
Not cruel exactly, just… formal.
Controlled.
"Right," I said quickly. "Lead the way, Lieutenant Kuchiki."
I stepped back slightly and let her take point.
This wasn't my world.
And suddenly, I felt very, very human.
I followed her through the sprawling maze of the Seireitei, trying not to look completely overwhelmed— I was probably failing.
Wide corridors opened into narrow streets before branching again into winding alleys that made absolutely no sense to me. Some buildings were massive barracks marked with squad insignias while others looked more administrative or industrial—storehouses, supply buildings, training facilities maybe. Everything was immaculately maintained.
The scale of it all was hard to process.
Rukia moved through it effortlessly.
Every step she took felt practiced and efficient, her black robes shifting lightly with each motion. There was no hesitation in her movements, no wasted energy. She carried herself differently here—straighter, sharper.
More distant.
I'd seen glimpses of this version of her before, but never fully like this.
Back in Karakura she was impulsive, expressive, sometimes awkward or fiery. Here, surrounded by white stone and Soul Reapers, she felt transformed into something older and more disciplined.
She was still shorter than me by a whole head..
But somehow, walking ahead of me now, she felt taller. Like the entire city recognized her authority even if I barely understood it myself.
We passed groups and individual soul reapers frequently as we moved. I greeted them as we went
"Hey, how y'all doin'?" I greeted casually as we passed a pair of Soul Reapers standing guard near one of the larger storehouses.
Both men looked at me immediately.
Suspiciously.
I was beginning to get used to that reaction.
In a city full of flowing black uniforms and centuries-old warriors, my jeans, t-shirt, and green jacket might as well have been a flashing neon sign reading:
OUTSIDER.
Still, I stayed casual. Smiling. Relaxed posture. Same way I'd talk to anyone back home.
The shorter of the two guards—though still taller than me by a few inches—straightened immediately when he noticed Rukia beside me.
"Lieutenant Kuchiki," he greeted formally.
There was an immediate stiffness to his posture that practically screamed lower rank. The other guard followed suit a second later, both suddenly looking much more professional.
Rukia gave a small nod in acknowledgment without breaking stride.
The first Soul Reaper hesitated before looking back toward me.
"…We are currently overseeing inventory transfers from the Second Division storehouses to Squad Nine archives," he explained suddenly. "There have been several recent concerns regarding classified documentation routing after the Hell Butterfly disruption this morning, so additional personnel were assigned to monitor—"
And he just… kept going. I nodded along patiently with the usual filler responses like 'right', 'I see', and 'makes sense' as if I knew what was going on.
Apparently my harmless greeting had triggered a full mission briefing.
"…therefore Captain Muguruma authorized temporary cross-squad security measures until communication efficiency returns to acceptable levels…"
I glanced sideways at Rukia.
She looked perfectly composed, but I caught the faintest twitch near the corner of her mouth.
Oh no.
She knew exactly what was happening.
The realization hit me almost instantly.
Right—Japan.
"How are you?" wasn't actually a throwaway greeting here.
Back home, asking somebody how they were doing usually meant:
"I acknowledge your existence politely for three seconds before we both continue on with our day."
Here? Apparently the poor guy thought I had genuinely requested operational details.
"…and due to the possibility of information leaks, Squad Nine has increased review procedures involving any non-Seireitei affiliated individuals…"
That last part definitely sounded aimed at me.
I gave a slow nod like I was up on everything he'd just said. Then I chuckled.
"Gotcha. Sounds busy."
The Soul Reaper looked oddly relieved.
Rukia finally spoke before the man could continue.
"That will be enough," she said calmly, though her tone carried unmistakable authority. "The human is under my supervision."
"Yes, Lieutenant Kuchiki!" both men answered immediately.
As we continued past them, I leaned slightly toward her.
"…I think I accidentally interrogated that guy."
"You did," she replied flatly.
"I was just saying hi."
"In the Seireitei, casually approaching seated or stationed Soul Reapers and asking vague personal questions is not considered normal behavior."
"That feels unhealthy."
"That is because humans insist on speaking to strangers unnecessarily."
I snorted.
"That's rich coming from the woman who broke into my bedroom through the ceiling with a pack of dubious body popping pills."
Her expression tightened instantly.
"That was a tactical necessity. And besides, Chappy performed her job well, all things considered."
I laughed
"I can't argue with results."
For just a second, the icy lieutenant façade cracked enough for me to catch a flicker of smug satisfaction in her eyes before she composed herself again.
Then I noticed the insignia markings changing along the walls ahead.
The atmosphere shifted subtly too.
The open movement of the other districts gave way to something quieter. More controlled.
More observant.
Fewer Soul Reapers wandered these corridors, but the ones who did seemed far more attentive. Their eyes lingered on me longer than the others had.
The buildings themselves looked different too—less militaristic and more administrative. Narrow windows. Reinforced doors. Archive seals.
My stomach tightened slightly.
"Squad Nine?" I asked quietly.
Rukia nodded once.
"They handle internal security, intelligence management, censorship, and information control."
That sounded… deeply concerning.
"They are also in charge of memory management for humans who witness things they shouldn't."
I looked around again, suddenly much more aware of the eyes following us.
"…You guys really do have secret police."
Rukia's expression didn't change.
"Yes."
The fact she answered that so casually somehow made it worse.
"Um… is that all they do?" I asked nervously.
"Well, Captain Mugurama also serves as the Editor-In-Chief of The Seireitei News Magazine. I personally like the Human Curiosities articles and tactical reports."
I stopped and looked at her dumbfounded.
"Wait, wait. You mean to tell me I might be walking into an op-ed instead of some weird assessment thing?"
This whole situation was already confusing as hell for me. Apparently someone in the spirit world had looked at the FBI and the press and decided combining the two was a brilliant idea.
Rukia let out a small laugh at that, the sound light and surprisingly relaxed.
"Something like that, though not quite. And I think you would enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame far too much."
I snorted.
"You're not wrong. I can be a spectacular train wreck under the right circumstances. Honestly, if I had my way, I'd be something like a C-list celebrity. Maybe D-list. A-listers and B-listers have too much attention. I want enough praise to stroke my fragile ego while still being forgettable enough to buy groceries in peace."
I was rambling again.
I needed the banter. It kept my mind occupied. Every time I slowed down, the existential dread came creeping back in. For one brief moment I was grateful I wasn't religious. I could only imagine how much harder this would've hit if I'd grown up believing I already knew what the afterlife looked like.
We walked deeper into the maze of the Seireitei. I was about to comment on how absurdly clean everything looked when Rukia suddenly stopped.
"Is this it?" I asked.
The answer was obvious the second the words left my mouth. Rukia shot me a sidelong glance that practically screamed she knew exactly what I was doing.
"Yes, Orion. This is it. Squad Nine's records and holding division."
Her tone had that cool professionalism she'd been wearing since we'd entered the Seireitei. It wasn't cold exactly. Just… Lieutenant Kuchiki.
I looked around. Honestly, this place looked exactly like every other section we'd passed. White walls, clean walkways, traditional architecture. If I ever lived here permanently, I'd hunt down whoever designed this city and force them to discover the concept of landmarks.
Inside, Rukia handled the guards with practiced ease and we were escorted to a small room with a table and a few chairs. It was simple and mostly bare. Wooden walls, a single window, and the faint scent of fresh timber mixed with some kind of cleaning solution I didn't recognize.
I sat down and tried to act normal.
One of the guards—a guy with a crooked nose and an undercut that looked like it had survived several bad decisions—pulled Rukia aside.
"Lieutenant Kuchiki. Captain Muguruma requested your presence upon arrival."
My stomach dropped.
Rukia nodded without hesitation.
"I understand. I shall leave Orion in your care."
Her voice left no room for argument. It struck me again how different she was here. At home, she'd been awkward, stubborn, adorable, occasionally terrifying. Here she carried herself like she belonged. Like she had authority.
With one brief glance in my direction, she left.
And just like that, I was alone.
The room felt smaller with every passing minute.
I tried distracting myself for several minutes, humming and imagining what this mysterious captain looks like.
The thoughts started creeping in.
This is where people go when they die.
If you die here, you reincarnate.
You'll forget everything eventually.
Infinity, the unfathomable infinity of the universe.
And I was just a pointless grain of sand in an ocean I couldn't possibly understand.
The idea wrapped itself around my chest like barbed wire. Endless lives. Endless deaths. Losing myself over and over again until nothing remained. It would be an endless cycle and I would lose myself a thousand to a million times over again and be none the wiser.
The same stupid fears I'd had since I was a kid came rushing back with a vengeance.
My heart raced nearly beating out of my chest and I looked around trying to distract my mind, but how could I when I was sitting in the afterlife. Just existing here was staring down infinity.
I'm scared
I'm scared— I'm scared…
I'm—
My heart started hammering.
No!.
Absolutely not.
I stood up so fast my chair scraped the floor.
The guard outside blinked in surprise, giving me a sidelong look.
"Where's the nearest restroom?"
He pointed down the wide open air corridors I had traveled earlier.
"Two lefts and a right. Do you need me to—"
I was already moving.
Ever since I was a kid, thoughts about death, reincarnation, eternity—anything existential—had a nasty habit of turning my insides into knots. It wasn't that I was afraid of death, but afraid of losing who I am.
And for some bizarre reason, going to the bathroom always helped. Maybe it was grounding. Maybe my body was stupid. Either way, it worked.
Ten minutes later, I leaned against the wall outside the restroom and slowly breathed.
"I hate this," I muttered to myself. "Whole damn year without one of these."
Eventually I started back.
Or at least, I thought I did.
After several turns, I realized I'd absentmindedly followed the directions but didn't reverse them and missed a turn.
Wonderful.
I was lost.
I stopped and looked around. Every hallway looked exactly the same.
I found myself wandering back and forth and peering around corners trying to unravel it like a puzzle.
I failed miserably.
"Think, Orion," I muttered. "When people get lost, what do they do?"
I paused.
"They talk to themselves, apparently."
Another turn. Still nothing.
"Could be worse. At least I don't have a volleyball named Wilson."
Then inspiration struck.
Rukia.There was an uneasy tension in the air. My reiatsu dominated the space and I suddenly felt it receding unconsciously like the guy whos voice cracked during an oral report in front of his class.
There was an uneasy tension in the air. My reiatsu dominated the space, and I suddenly felt it receding unconsciously like the guy whose voice cracked during an oral report in front of the class.
"Hey," I drawled a tad too long. "Uh, what seems to be the trouble, officer?"
I can't believe I just defaulted to my traffic stop voice.
At this point, treating Soul Reapers like spirit cops wasn't necessarily incorrect, but it still didn't seem entirely accurate.
A middle-aged man with a receding hairline so severe it made his hair look like a horseshoe crown stared me down with narrowed eyes. The poor guy was immaculately shaven and had a broad jawline that somehow made the hair situation even more noticeable.
"How did you know I was a seated officer? I haven't seen you before."
His tone was sharp and discerning.
The other six Soul Reapers slowly began to spread out around me. I didn't move to stop them, though every instinct I had was screaming not to let armed people get behind me.
"Would ya believe it was a lucky guess? Sorry, but I got lost finding the bathroom. I was actually heading back to the Squad 9 holding area, so if you could just point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way."
I tried to take a step.
They all moved closer.
I could feel their reiatsu pressing against my own as it settled back toward its normal flow—well, almost normal.
"No," he said firmly. "I wouldn't. I am Twentieth Seat Ryuzaki of Squad Six, and I am ordering you to stand down while we detain you."
His tone carried a semblance of authority, but not like Rukia's. It was more like a shift manager at a fast-food chain.
"Um... what if ya didn't? I really got someplace to be. I'm certain Lieutenant Kuchiki would be willing to sort this out."
I spoke with about as much confidence as I felt, which incidentally wasn't any.
"We'll see about that."
Ryuzaki looked entirely unconvinced.
"Shiro. Nanami. Capture this ryoka."
The two Soul Reapers behind me stepped forward. They had gotten close enough that their reiatsu irritated me like the unsettling sensation of bugs crawling up my spine.
I resigned myself to the tedious process that would inevitably follow.
Somehow this would sort itself out.
There were plenty of situations in life where ignoring the problem made it disappear on its own. Like when I got water all over my bathroom floor after a shower. Eventually it just evaporated.
I was, of course, wrong because I failed to account for one critical detail.
It was a day ending in Y.
As the taller Soul Reaper with cropped dark hair—Shiro—grabbed my wrists behind my back, he twisted my arm just enough to send a sharp lance of pain straight through my shoulder.
I don't know if it was intentional.
Normally I would've taken it in stride.
Instead, before I could consciously react, I had already spun around and punched him square in the jaw hard enough to put him on his ass.
I didn't even realize I'd done it until afterward.
For a split second, that familiar ugly streak surfaced—the sudden flash of rage that sometimes appeared whenever someone hurt me unexpectedly.
Then it was gone.
This had happened a handful of times throughout my life. I would overreact to pain with an almost irrational fury. I'd always joked it was some kind of inherited Viking blood rage from a distant Norse ancestor, though I'd never exactly verified that theory.
It was in that horrifying moment I cursed my complete lack of self-control.
"Oh, fuck! Sorry about that, you okay—"
I never finished the sentence.
A zanpakutō swung past my head, and instinct alone made me lean back far enough to avoid losing part of my face.
Damn.
And I thought cops back home were trigger happy.
Leave it to me to overreact at literally the worst possible time.
I leapt backward several paces as my reiatsu flared again and looked around warily.
I was surrounded by robed, sword-wielding ghost cops, and running felt like the kind of decision that would get me killed faster than fighting without a head start.
"Don't suppose we could settle this over a children's card game? Or a drink?"
That actually made them hesitate.
Their expressions told me the same thing everyone's expressions did whenever I opened my mouth.
Your jokes aren't funny. Are you crazy?
"You have some nerve treating Squads Six and Ten like a joke. Let's see if you still think that after this."
The long-haired Soul Reaper standing near Ryuzaki shouted indignantly before launching into a series of hand signs and chanting.
Oh no you don't.
I hurled three lightning playing cards at her just like I'd done back at the hospital.
The cards streaked toward her face, forcing her to dodge and interrupting her chant.
"Don't try spells with me! A good dungeon master knows the best way to deal with mages is to interrupt the verbal and somatic components."
I felt pretty satisfied with myself now that my DnD knowledge was becoming useful.
That feeling lasted approximately two seconds.
"Hadō #12: Fushibi!"
Her concentration had been broken, and maybe that prevented something worse, but it didn't stop the ground beneath my feet from erupting with flaming root-like chains that lashed out like snakes.
I damn near tripped over them.
As they missed their mark, I lunged forward and condensed my reiryoku into a long-bladed polearm resembling a pale blue naginata.
I slashed at the nearest Soul Reaper.
He parried immediately.
The impact forced me back a step.
Another strike came from the side. I barely caught it and could already feel the blade chewing through my construct. I shoved it away just in time to hear someone shout behind me.
"Smash, Ōtsuchi Bōtō!"
I felt it before I understood what had happened.
Pain exploded through my ribs.
My vision flashed red.
My ears rang.
The world tilted.
A second later I realized I was on my knees.
The wall behind me had cracked inward like a crater, and blood splattered across the ground as I coughed.
Standing ahead of me was one of the Soul Reapers wielding a cartoonishly oversized hammer.
The others were already closing in.
At least the guy I'd punched earlier was still unconscious.
The little victories, I guess.
I patted myself down to check my injuries.
Everything hurt too much to tell.
Then my hand brushed something hard inside my jacket.
For a moment I just stared.
This had to be irony at its finest.
I reached into my inner pocket and pulled out a slightly lint-covered Glock 19.
The weapon felt strangely satisfying in my hand.
And incredibly out of place.
In a world of spirits, swords, and ancient Japanese architecture, I was holding something distinctly modern.
Distinctly human.
"I'm done here. Done with all of this bullshit."
In all honesty, I'd completely forgotten I was carrying it.
Normally it would've been useless against Hollows or spirits.
Except Kisuke had shoved me through that weird matter-converting gate.
Everything on me was spirit particles now.
Including the gun.
Whether that actually meant it would work was another question entirely.
The Soul Reapers stared cautiously.
Some looked confused.
Some looked concerned.
Maybe they knew exactly what it was.
Maybe they didn't.
"You guys have swords, magic, and ghost physics..."
I pointed the Glock at the hammer wielder's shoulder.
"I got the fuckin' Second Amendment."
I was beginning to understand why eighties action heroes talked like this.
BANG!
The shot rang out like a cannon.
The hammer wielder staggered, dropping his shikai and clutching his shoulder.
Oddly enough, he wasn't bleeding.
Maybe because both he and the bullet were made of reishi now.
From what I could tell, I'd essentially found a way to hit people with a spiritual sledgehammer faster than they could react.
I fired six more rounds into the nearest Soul Reapers.
They looked more irritated by the noise than seriously injured.
"Bakudō #4: Hainawa!"
Someone began chanting.
I fired at them mid-spell.
The shot disrupted their concentration, but ribbons of white energy still erupted around me and started wrapping around my body.
I immediately formed a blade in my off hand and hacked my way free, feeling like I'd been trapped inside a giant papier-mâché egg.
Then the air changed.
Everything suddenly felt heavier.
Colder.
Denser.
Like I was breathing gelatin while gravity doubled.
The sensation was so overwhelming that I immediately turned toward its source.
A boy stood atop a nearby wall.
He couldn't have been older than thirteen or fifteen if I was being generous.
White hair.
Black shihakushō.
White captain's haori.
A long zanpakutō resting casually over his shoulder.
His expression was completely unimpressed.
He surveyed the scene, then locked eyes with me.
Despite being significantly shorter, he somehow made me feel very small.
"What's the meaning of this?"