Chapter 2: Interrogation
The bitter taste of willow buds wasn't something you savored—you choked it down and moved on. When Suoh figured he'd reached maybe fifty percent full, he stopped eating.
He spotted a branch that looked promising—decent thickness, relatively straight. Gripping it with both hands, he lifted his feet off the ground and let his body weight do the work.
Crack.
The branch snapped clean, about as long as his forearm and thick as a baby's wrist. Suoh caught it firmly, stripped away the smaller offshoots with his hands, and ended up with a serviceable wooden staff.
"Not bad."
He tested the weight, gave it a few experimental swings. The balance felt right. A thin smile crossed his face—the first since waking up in this nightmare.
Turning back toward the stream, he scanned the rocky bank until he found what he needed: a piece of dark flint with a sharp fracture line.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Suoh crouched and began grinding the flint against another stone, working in steady rhythm. His movements were precise, focused. The edge grew sharper with each pass. When he finally dragged his thumb along the blade and felt it bite, he stopped. His body didn't have the stamina for finer work right now.
Using the stone blade, he carved a groove near the end of his wooden staff. Then he clenched his teeth, grabbed the hem of his rough shirt, and tore off several strips of fabric. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he wound the strips around the flint, binding it tight to the wood.
Ding! Host has successfully crafted a stone axe. Survival Experience +1. Reward: Newbie Gift Package.
Yeah, right. No cheat for him. No system notification. Just cold reality and a weapon that looked like it belonged in a museum's "Early Human Tools" exhibit.
The rough wood grain pressed into his palm as Suoh gripped his crude stone axe. It was ugly as hell, but it gave him something he desperately needed—a sliver of security. This wasn't just a tool. It was his first real defense against whatever this world might throw at him.
He was about to stand and search for more food when sound of rustling drifted over from beyond a nearby slope.
Suoh's hand tightened around the axe shaft. He pressed his back against the willow tree, eyes scanning the direction of the sound. Running crossed his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. Too late for that. Moving now would only make him more vulnerable.
The rustling grew closer. A low figure crested the slope and entered his line of sight.
Not a beast. Not a monster. Just an old man wearing the same rough cloth as Suoh.
With his sharp vision, Suoh took in every detail. The old man was ancient—bent back, sparse white hair, face carved with wrinkles like cracked earth. His eyes were cloudy, his expression flat and numb, carrying that peculiar deadness you saw in people who'd given up on life. No weapons at his waist or in his hands. Just an old wooden bucket. Completely non-threatening.
Wait.
Something was off. The old man's hands were pale and loose-skinned, aged like his face—but there were no calluses. No signs of hard labor. In a place like this, that didn't make sense.
Suoh's briefly relaxed muscles tensed again. His body shifted into a stance ready to explode into motion, eyes locked on the approaching figure with predatory focus.
The old man seemed to notice Suoh for the first time. When their eyes met—when he saw the stone axe in Suoh's hand—the old man jerked back half a step. The wooden bucket slipped from his grip and rolled away.
"Easy! I won't hurt you!"
The old man raised his hands to his chest, voice loud and trembling.
"Stay right there. Don't move." Suoh kept his voice level. "I'm not going to attack you without reason, but I need answers."
The familiar cadence of Japanese rang in Suoh's ears. As a veteran anime fan who'd spent time studying in Japan, he knew the language inside and out. He gestured with his left hand for the old man to stay put while pulling the axe back slightly with his right.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
This interruption was sudden, but Suoh recognized the opportunity. He needed information about this world, and he needed it now.
"I'm Sato Shigeo." The old man's initial fear seemed to ease as comprehension dawned in his eyes. "This is Rukongai—West District Three, near Rifuku Mountain."
"Rukongai? West District Three?"
Suoh forced down the storm of emotions threatening to break loose and repeated the keywords, testing them on his tongue.
"Yes, that's right."
The old man—Sato—seemed to understand the situation now. A gentle smile replaced some of the tension in his face. "This is the Soul Society. We're in West Rukongai, District Three. You must be a soul who just passed over from the World of the Living."
His tone became almost reassuring, like he'd done this before. "It happens sometimes. Apart from folks like me who died of old age, newly arrived souls can be... confused. Memories get fuzzy. Give it a few days—it'll clear up."
He gestured toward Suoh's waist. "I know this sounds crazy, but you should have a district pass tucked into your belt. That'll prove I'm telling the truth."
"If you're willing, put down the weapon. I'll explain everything properly."
The old man's words came faster now, more confident. His finger pointed to a spot just left of Suoh's belt.
Rukongai. Soul Society. Those familiar terms clicked into place like puzzle pieces. Even an idiot could figure it out now—he'd transmigrated into the world of Bleach.
Following the old man's indication, Suoh reached to his waist and pulled out a yellowed paper slip. Unfolding it, he saw the characters clearly marked: West District Three.
Suddenly, the oddity of the old man's hands made sense. In the Bleach world, ordinary souls didn't experience hunger. They didn't need food—just natural breathing to absorb spirit particles from the air, plus water. Of course his hands wouldn't show signs of manual labor.
"I'm sorry for scaring you." Suoh tucked the stone axe into his belt and walked forward to retrieve the fallen bucket. "A lot of things are... unclear right now. Just call me Tsukasa."
He followed the old man's narrative, offering the name smoothly.
"It's fine, really." Sato watched Suoh's movements carefully. Seeing him genuinely lower his guard and put away the weapon, the old man's smile warmed considerably. "Being confused when you first arrive is completely normal. No need to be so formal—just call me Sato-san."
"You were coming to get water, right? Let me help you carry it back. I have questions, if you don't mind answering them along the way."
Suoh's offer served double duty—apology and information gathering. The original manga had barely touched on Rukongai life. There were crucial details he needed to confirm.
"Yes, yes, of course!"
A spark of vitality flickered across Sato's weathered face as he readily agreed.
Suoh took the bucket to the stream's edge, rinsed it out, and filled it with clear water.
The two walked side by side along the bank, Sato clearly familiar with the area. He pointed out landmarks like a dutiful guide, introducing Suoh to everything nearby.
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