Tenshin Ichirō — sixty-four years old, a new student at the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy, and, quite unluckily, a man who has reincarnated twice.
In his first life, he had been an ordinary office worker on a planet called Earth. He had already bought a car and an apartment and was just about to start dating when, during a vacation, he binge-watched Fullmetal Alchemist for forty episodes straight—and promptly died from exhaustion. The next thing he knew, he had been reincarnated into the world of Fullmetal Alchemist.
In his second life, he learned his lesson. From childhood, he developed healthy habits, studied diligently, and mastered the art of alchemy. Eventually, he passed the examination and became a proud State Alchemist. For a self-proclaimed lazy ass bastard, that life could've been called complete.
Yet perhaps it was fate's curse—three years after becoming a State Alchemist, a gunpowder experiment went out of control. With a single boom, everything went black once more.
When he awoke again, he found himself in the Rukongai, the outer district of the Soul Society, with a new name: Tenshin Ichirō.
His memories from his previous life were gone. What remained in his mind were the past twenty years of his current existence in Rukongai.
Fortunately, Ichirō wasn't just another lost soul. He was born with spiritual power—the fundamental energy that allowed Shinigami to exist. Although his reiryoku was weak, it still set him apart from ordinary souls.
And so, in that barren district where resources were scarce, Ichirō spent nearly forty years training, struggling, and finally passing the entrance exam of the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy. He had officially become a first-year student!
He straightened his crisp white uniform and smiled confidently at his reflection in the mirror.
"Still as handsome as ever," he said to himself with a grin.
Walking down the Academy's path, Ichirō looked around with unabashed curiosity, just like the other students from Rukongai. Their wide-eyed stares earned several scornful glances from the nearby nobles, who carried themselves with elegance and superiority.
Most of the other Rukongai-born students quickly noticed the disdain and lowered their heads in embarrassment, but Ichirō didn't care in the slightest. He continued surveying the Academy grounds with unrestrained fascination.
After all, when you've lived nearly a century—including forty monotonous years in the Soul Society—shame becomes a luxury. To feel shame, you first need to have a sense of pride to lose.
"Hmm? They're dividing the classes this way?" Ichirō muttered as he examined the notice board. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
The first-year classes weren't assigned based on entrance exam rankings. Evidence of that was right in front of him—he, who took forty years just to get admitted, was placed in the same class as Yoruichi Shihōin and Kisuke Urahara. Both of them would one day become captain-level powerhouses.
Of course, such an arrangement wouldn't last long. It was obvious that a re-sorting exam would happen eventually—for the sake of fair resource distribution. But by then, Ichirō was confident that he could catch up.
His class—First Year, Class 3—had only about thirty students. Not too many, which made sense; the instructors would be overwhelmed if more students had to learn the four foundational disciplines: Zanjutsu (Swordsmanship), Hakuda (Hand-to-Hand Combat), Hohō (Agility), and Kidō (Demon Arts).
Entering the classroom, Ichirō's eyes lingered briefly on Urahara and Yoruichi before moving on to observe the other, less remarkable faces. Then he quietly took a seat near the window, second from the back.
A seat by the window, in the back row—the classic throne of kings.
Soon, the classroom filled with chatter as students gathered in groups. The division among them became clear: nobles from Seireitei, rough souls from Rukongai, and then… Urahara Kisuke and Tenshin Ichirō—each standing somewhere in between.
Urahara, though born into a noble family and a childhood friend of Yoruichi's, had clearly fallen from grace. The word "fallen" said enough. He had none of the stiff etiquette of a noble, yet carried himself with unpretentious charm—a gentleman unbound by formality. Ichirō found that they were alike in that way.
After all, in his second life, Ichirō had been a State Alchemist—a respectable position. He had learned etiquette, manners, and the ways of society. Even though the worlds differed, the poise he cultivated remained.
When their eyes met, both men smiled knowingly. No words were exchanged, but Urahara quietly remembered the Rukongai-born Ichirō.
Soon after, the instructor entered. The classroom immediately fell silent—even the loudest troublemakers from Rukongai froze like obedient chicks.
That was because the teacher's spiritual pressure erupted the moment he stepped inside.
For students still untrained in controlling their reiryoku, the weight of that pressure was suffocating.
When everyone finally quieted down, the teacher smiled faintly, withdrew his spiritual energy, and spoke.
"Welcome to the Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy. For the next six years, I'll be your instructor. I look forward to working with all of you."
He bowed slightly, and the noble students rose to return the gesture gracefully. Ichirō and the other Rukongai-born students hastily imitated them, performing a clumsy but respectful bow before sitting down.
Nothing particularly exciting followed. The first day was just introductions, the distribution of textbooks, and a rundown of school rules.
Afterward, all students gathered for a speech from the Headmaster—Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13. It was one of the few opportunities any student would ever have to see him in person.
The other students were trembling with honor and excitement. Ichirō, on the other hand, felt little more than a brief surge of awe. Having lived through multiple worlds and countless years, he'd heard his share of ceremonial speeches—and this one was no different. Polished, formal, and utterly forgettable.
When the speech concluded, their homeroom teacher gave them a brief tour of the Academy's facilities before dismissing them. Morning classes were over. The afternoon would be spent exploring the campus freely; formal lessons would begin tomorrow.
Yes—at Shin'ō Academy, classes were only held in the morning and afternoon. There were no night study sessions. Longevity breeds indulgence, Ichirō thought dryly.
That, however, explained why so many Soul Reapers in the original timeline were mediocre. With such a lax learning schedule, how much could anyone truly master in six years? Only prodigies would thrive; the rest would remain background extras.
Still, given the rigid hierarchy of Seireitei, it made sense. Power in the Soul Society equated to authority—and the system was designed to ensure that ordinary souls never rose too high.
After dismissal, Ichirō declined several invitations and went straight to the library. He had research to do—information that might determine how fast he could grow stronger in this world.
---
"Whoa…" Ichirō gasped as he pushed open the grand library doors.
Rows upon rows of books stretched beyond sight, far exceeding his expectations. Even compared to the National Library he'd studied in during his alchemist days, this collection was enormous.
And this was only the student section.
In awe, he walked deeper into the aisles. After reading a few guide plaques along the shelves, he realized why there were so many volumes—nearly eighty percent were devoted to Kidō.
Though the Shinigami arts consisted of the four core disciplines—Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hohō, and Kidō—the first three were combat-focused and limited in scope. Kidō, however, was vast and universal, its knowledge deep enough for one to study for a lifetime.
Even the most seasoned Shinigami often never touched the other disciplines deeply, but every one of them relied on Kidō in some way.
So the abundance of material made sense. Still, Ichirō's goal today wasn't Kidō—it was something more fundamental: the theory of reishi, the spiritual particles that composed all things in the Soul Society.
---
Later that night, when his dorm mates had yet to return, Ichirō knelt on the floor and drew a large circle with chalk. Within it, he carefully inscribed a series of complex symbols and runes.
Yes—although the principles were still unclear, this was his secret power.
A gift carried over from the world of alchemy—
his cheat, the Art of Alchemy itself.