"Three grams less sugar… replace it with four maple leaves, add three milliliters of spirit spring water, then mix in…"
Muttering under his breath, Ichirō carefully arranged a tray of ingredients before him, occasionally crouching to modify the intricate array drawn on the floor.
Alchemy — a supernatural discipline governed by the strict laws of science. It followed the immutable rule of Equivalent Exchange: one could extract fire by using oxygen in the air as fuel, but one could not transmute water into flame, for the substances were not equivalent in nature.
Yet to the Ichirō of today, such limitations mattered little. After all, everything in the Soul Society was composed of reishi — spirit particles. This new, all-pervading substance required him to reconstruct the principles of alchemy from the ground up. But the benefits far outweighed the inconvenience.
It meant that he only had to study one kind of matter — reishi — and, more importantly, this discovery brought him one step closer to breaching alchemy's greatest taboo: Human Transmutation.
Human Transmutation involved three components — the body, the soul, and the mind.
In his previous world, Ichirō had read countless records of failed experiments at the National Library. Most alchemists focused solely on reconstructing the body while neglecting the soul and mind, thereby violating the law of equivalent exchange… and paying the ultimate price for it.
But in the Soul Society, the situation was different. This world itself was built upon reishi — even its souls were formed from it. That meant two of the three components were already complete. Only one remained—consciousness.
And Ichirō… had already found a substitute for that.
Still, Human Transmutation was far beyond his current reach. For now, his research focused on something more immediate—
Shhhh—
"What are you doing?"
The door slid open. Kisuke Urahara stepped inside, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he spotted Ichirō crouched on the floor, holding a small vial.
"Hm? Oh, you're my roommate? What a coincidence."
"Yeah, pretty lucky," Urahara replied, stepping closer to examine the vial. "What's this? It feels like the spiritual energy inside is much denser than normal spirit water."
"Oh, that?" Ichirō said casually. "It's something I've been mixing — food and drink with higher reiryoku content. It's about twice as effective as ordinary spirit meals. You know how it is… growing up in Rukongai, I've had to find every way possible to squeeze out every drop of resource."
Urahara nodded in understanding. Ichirō wasn't the first to have that idea, nor the first to succeed. In fact, most high-quality spirit food used by nobles these days came from similar experiments.
Noticing Urahara's intrigued expression, Ichirō smiled and handed him the vial.
"Want to try it?"
"Can I?" Urahara blinked in mild surprise.
"Go ahead. It's nothing expensive," Ichirō shrugged. "I waste more materials in a single failed experiment anyway."
"Then I'll take you up on that."
Urahara uncorked the vial, sniffed lightly, then downed the contents in one gulp. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sensation flowing through his body.
Moments later, his eyes widened. The spiritual density was extraordinary — that tiny portion, barely the size of a thumb, contained as much reiryoku as an entire meal's worth of energy intake.
With long-term use, the rate of growth this could provide was staggering.
"This is impressive," Urahara admitted. "Far stronger than most spirit foods I've seen. But you should probably keep it for personal use. If word spreads, it could draw dangerous attention."
Ichirō chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm aware of that. Besides, it's not quite as amazing as you think. The results are only this good because the reishi concentration here in Seireitei is higher than in Rukongai. The materials themselves are richer in spiritual energy."
Urahara smiled faintly, saying nothing. If it were really that simple, someone would've figured it out long ago.
His gaze shifted to the transmutation circle etched on the floor. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Is this… a Kidō array to enhance spiritual sensitivity? It looks a bit different."
"Ah, that. I found it in the library today. You just draw it out — weak effect, but better than nothing."
Like the diluted spirit water, this was part of Ichirō's smokescreen. He couldn't hide the fact that he used alchemy, but he also couldn't explain its origins. Thus, he needed a plausible cover.
The "spirit water" Urahara drank was a weakened version — harmless, merely infused with reiryoku. The full version could directly boost one's spiritual pressure, functioning like an experience potion. But that also made it far more dangerous.
To put it bluntly, Ichirō wanted to craft an image — that of a genius innovator — but not too much of a genius. Especially not in ways that might threaten the noble hierarchy of Seireitei. Those kinds of discoveries could never be allowed to spread.
"Wow, I didn't think anyone else bothered reading these old things," Urahara remarked, pointing at the ancient Kidō texts stacked nearby. "I thought I was the only one."
"You study this too?" Ichirō asked, genuinely surprised.
"Of course. It's the earliest form of Kidō! Sure, it's outdated now, but there's still so much to learn from it — like why certain incantations were changed, what flaws the old versions had, what was abandoned or added later… there's a wealth of knowledge hidden in the past."
"Exactly!" Ichirō nodded excitedly. "Those archaic forms are closer to the true essence of Kidō. Interpreting them through modern understanding gives a deeper insight."
At that, Urahara's eyes lit up.
Now this was a topic he could lose himself in.
And so, the two launched into an intense discussion. Ideas collided like sparks.
Urahara brought solid foundations and structured knowledge from his noble education. Ichirō, on the other hand, offered unorthodox perspectives — the free-spirited logic of someone who'd lived across worlds.
The results were fascinating. Some of Ichirō's wilder theories — like modifying Bakudō #81: Dankū (Splitting Void) into an offensive spatial Kidō — were impossible. But others held promise. One idea — forming six interlinked barriers of Dankū into a cage — showed real potential. With refinement, it could become an entirely new and powerful binding spell.
For Ichirō, Urahara's deep theoretical understanding was equally enlightening.
They debated, brainstormed, and refined each other's thoughts until, without realizing it, the entire night had slipped away.
Dong—dong—dong!
A series of chimes shattered their concentration. Both men frowned, blinking in confusion.
"Strange… why does that sound so familiar?" Ichirō muttered.
"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Urahara replied, scratching his head as the two tried to recall where they'd heard it.
"…Wait. Don't tell me…"
"THE CLASS BELL!" they both shouted in unison.
Their faces went pale. Without even fixing their uniforms, they bolted for the door.
"Crap, crap, crap! Why didn't you remind me!?"
"You didn't remind me either! Damn it, first official day of class and we're already late — Yoruichi's gonna laugh herself sick!"
"Yoruichi?! You're still worrying about that while we're running late?! If we don't hurry, the teacher will roast us alive!"
"Hold on! We're already way past on time, aren't we? Maybe if we walk calmly and act flustered when we arrive, it'll look like we ran!"
Ichirō skidded to a stop, staring at the still-sprinting Urahara.
"…You know what? Good point."
And so, just like that, the two of them strolled leisurely toward the classroom, their earlier panic completely forgotten — marking the beginning of a most unexpected friendship.