"Ichirō… my name is… call my name… Ichirō, my name… call my name… I've been waiting for you… Ichirō…"
A shaft of morning light slipped through the window of his dorm room. Ichirō slowly opened his eyes, a trace of melancholy in his gaze. The voice echoing within his soul had vanished completely.
He knew exactly what it was—the voice of his Zanpakutō's spirit. According to what they'd been taught at Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy, reaching the stage where one could hear their blade's voice meant they were not far from achieving Shikai, the first release. But "not far" was a relative concept. History had seen plenty of Shinigami remain trapped at this very stage for decades, even centuries.
Ichirō sat up, gently running his fingers along the Zanpakutō resting beside him.
"How," he murmured, "can I make out your name clearly…?"
"Yo~," Urahara yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "So, you finally heard your Zanpakutō's voice? Did it tell you its name?"
"Yeah, it did. But I couldn't hear it clearly. What do you think I'm missing?"
"No idea," Urahara said, scratching his chin. "Everyone's different. When I heard mine, I caught the name right away. But in your case—maybe it's because of your alchemy?"
Ichirō froze for a moment, then lowered his head in thought.
Now that Urahara mentioned it, he remembered an event from the original records of the Soul Society—a certain Kōga Kuchiki had experienced something eerily similar. After he stopped trusting his own Zanpakutō, both he and his blade spirit, Muramasa, could no longer hear each other's voices.
"So… does that mean I don't trust you? Or… that you haven't acknowledged me yet?"
He didn't know the answer. Maybe the fault lay in himself, maybe in the blade… or maybe both.
Ichirō shook his head, brushing the thought aside. There was no use brooding over it. He got up and began dressing. It had already been three days since their return from the Human World.
During those three days, the academy had finalized new term arrangements—and for Ichirō, a brand-new stage of training was about to begin:
Internship in the Fourth Division.
---
The Division Internship Program was a rarely-invoked rule at the academy: exceptionally gifted students could apply to train temporarily within an actual division of the Gotei 13 to experience real-world operations while still remaining enrolled.
In theory, it was an incredible opportunity. In practice, no one had ever used it.
The requirements were too strict—only students with remarkable potential qualified, and those individuals usually skipped grades altogether. Anyone unable to skip grades couldn't meet the threshold anyway. Thus, the clause became little more than a decorative footnote in the regulations.
Only Ichirō and his two infamous companions, Urahara and Yoruichi, had both the ability and the free time to exploit it.
When Ichirō stumbled upon the rule in the academy's library, he'd immediately applied.
To him, the Fourth Division was heaven for studying "Body Transmutation."
Body Transmutation, after all, leaned toward healing arts. Combat enhancement was merely a by-product—a "deviant branch." The Fourth Division was full of experiments—ah, patients—waiting for his "gentle attention."
He couldn't have asked for a better laboratory.
Even better, unlike in his previous life, there were no restrictions here. In his old world, medical institutions were always suspicious of alchemists, limiting what they could research. But here…
He grinned darkly. "Hehehe—"
"Pff!" Urahara promptly hurled a pillow straight at his face.
"What the hell are you imagining? You'll ruin your reputation before your first day even starts. Being late on your first assignment won't leave a good impression."
"Yeah, yeah, I know—wait, huh? How are you ready so fast?" Ichirō blinked, genuinely surprised. They had woken up at the same time, but somehow Urahara was already fully dressed.
Normally, he'd still be lying half-asleep, enjoying at least two more rounds of "just five more minutes."
"Oh, Yoruichi and I need to head back for a while," Urahara replied, adjusting his hat. "Seems like there's some disturbance brewing in the Soul Society. Be careful, all right? If you encounter an enemy, release your full Reiatsu immediately—we'll find you right away."
"Got it. Take care."
As Urahara left, Ichirō's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He had a few guesses about this so-called "disturbance."
He remembered Kōga Kuchiki—described in the records as a Shinigami prodigy from centuries past. He had mastered Bankai while still at the academy and rose rapidly through the ranks after countless victories in suppressing rogue Shinigami uprisings.
Rogue Shinigami. Multiple rebellions. If that much was true, then the Soul Society of this era was far from peaceful. And based on the timeline, it was entirely possible that Ichirō might soon cross paths with that very man.
Still, he wasn't worried. Even if things did get chaotic, it had little to do with a mere academy student like him. Besides, his combat strength was already on par with an average Seated Officer—and with his mastery of Kidō, perhaps even stronger.
Each division had around thirty to fifty seated positions (depending on size, though the minimum standard was uniform). Above them were only the Lieutenants and Captains—the true pillars of the Gotei 13.
As long as the captains didn't personally come after him, he had nothing to fear.
And if they did… well, he'd accept his fate.
...
After tidying up, Ichirō stepped out of Shin'ō Academy and headed straight toward the Fourth Division barracks.
On his way, patrolling Shinigami shot curious glances at the young man in the crisp white academy uniform. A few whispered to one another, wondering who he was.
Ichirō ignored the attention, following the map his instructor had given him until he arrived at his destination.
He slipped his hands into his pockets, took a breath to compose himself, and stepped inside.
He had envisioned many possibilities for this moment—
Maybe Captain Unohana Retsu herself would welcome him personally, guiding him with gentle patience through Kidō and Kaidō healing techniques.
Or perhaps a group of kind and enthusiastic big sisters would crowd around him, eager to show him the ropes.
Alternatively, they might deliberately assign him menial labor to test his humility—polishing floors, scrubbing rooms—while secretly observing his character.
Or maybe someone would even notice his potential with the sword and—
…Well, no. That last fantasy didn't even make it past the first line.
In short, Ichirō had imagined countless scenarios.
But reality? Reality was brutally mundane.
A single middle-aged man with a white satchel greeted him at the front desk. Apart from a momentary expression of surprise at seeing an academy student applying under the ancient rule, the man simply recorded Ichirō's information as if processing another routine recruit.
He handed Ichirō a matching white work satchel—and a broom.
That was it.
No grand welcome. No special instruction. Just a broom.
Only then, after a brief explanation from the man, did Ichirō remember—
The Fourth Division was also in charge of daily cleaning duties.
Ichirō froze.
Me. The top… well, top-three genius of Shin'ō Academy—reduced to janitorial work?
No wonder no one ever applied for this internship!
He clenched his teeth. How could they do this to me?
"This is outrageous!" he muttered under his breath.
"Hey! New kid!" a nearby Shinigami barked. "Move slower, and you'll kick up more dust than you clean!"
Ichirō exhaled heavily, forcing a smile.
"Got it~~," he said through gritted teeth, broom in hand.
Thus began the great alchemist's humble career… as the Soul Society's newest janitor.