December 28th, 2003 — 9:36 PM
Karakura Town — Multiple Locations
The night had already crossed the point of control.
Spiritual pressure clashed across Karakura like overlapping storms — crude, violent, uncoordinated. Hollows poured in faster than patrol routes could adjust.
And at the center of it all—
An absence.
...
Karakura Town — Eastern Block
Rukia Kuchiki landed hard on cracked pavement, boots skidding through frost-slick concrete as she steadied herself. Her breath steamed in sharp bursts, blade already half-raised.
The Hollow in front of her hesitated.
It shouldn't have.
Rukia didn't wait.
"Hadō #63—Raikōhō."
The golden blast tore straight through its mask, detonating the body into dissolving fragments that evaporated before they hit the ground.
She exhaled once, sharp.
"Report," she ordered.
A seated officer flash-stepped in beside her, boots skidding as he caught himself on one knee. Blood streaked his sleeve. His breathing was ragged, uneven — fear barely leashed behind discipline.
"Vice-Captain," he said quickly, forcing the words out between breaths, "multiple Garganta openings across the north and west sectors."
Rukia's fingers tightened around Sode no Shirayuki.
"How many?" she asked.
The officer swallowed.
"...We stopped counting."
That answer landed heavier than any number.
Rukia's eyes narrowed.
"And casualties?"
The hesitation this time was shorter — but it was there.
"Mounting," he admitted. "Several unseated officers confirmed lost. We're holding civilians back, but—" his jaw clenched, "—the perimeter's thinning."
Rukia closed her eyes for half a second.
"...Kurosaki," she said quietly.
The officer stiffened. "Vice-Captain?"
Rukia shook her head.
Whatever that name threatened to drag up, she sealed it away with the same precision she used to sheath her blade ready to freeze and cut down any hollow. There was no space for it here. No room for ghosts or questions that could not be answered with steel.
And yet—
Sode no Shirayuki shuddered in her grip.
Not from battle lust.
Not from cold.
From urgency.
A whisper crawled up her arm, sharp and insistent, resonating through the bond she shared with her Zanpakutō — a quiet, crystalline scream pulling her attention in a single direction.
Find him.
Rukia's fingers tightened.
She didn't answer it.
She couldn't.
Not while the city burned and lives were bleeding out by the second.
Later, she promised silently — not to the blade, but to herself.
Later, she would follow that call.
But for now, she forced the whisper down, buried it beneath command and duty, and turned back to the battlefield with frost in her veins and resolve carved into her stance.
The officer straightened despite the exhaustion in his limbs.
"All units are to abandon fixed positions immediately," Rukia continued. "We're switching to evacuation priority. Civilians first — always. If you encounter resistance too dense to push through, you pull back and redirect. Do not stand your ground for pride."
The officer's brow furrowed. "Vice-Captain, if we pull back—"
"We don't pull back," she cut in calmly. "We reposition."
Her gaze swept the street — the damaged buildings, the civilians being herded behind makeshift barriers, the Shinigami bleeding and still standing.
"Split all forces into mobile response cells," she ordered. "Three units minimum. No one moves alone. If you lose visual contact with your cell for more than ten seconds, you fall back and regroup."
She took a step forward.
"Civilian evacuation takes priority over Hollow elimination. Do not pursue stragglers. Do not chase kills. If a Hollow disengages, let it."
The officer hesitated. "Vice-Captain... that'll leave some sectors exposed."
"Yes," Rukia replied immediately. "It will."
Her voice hardened.
"And if you try to hold ground you can't defend, you'll die for it."
The officer swallowed and nodded sharply. "Understood."
"Seal off the southern residential blocks," she continued. "Route civilians toward the river corridor — it's narrow, but easier to defend. Kido teams reinforce only when absolutely necessary, no overcasting...I don't want excess Reiatsu bleeding into the cit —"
She cut herself off.
The air shifted.
Not a spike.
Not a flare.
A pressure drop — like the city had inhaled too deeply and forgotten how to breathe out.
Every Shinigami on the block felt it.
The officer's eyes widened. "Vice-Captain... sir—"
"I feel it," Rukia said.
The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet. Windows rattled. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm cut off mid-wail as if crushed by invisible hands.
Another officer flash-stepped in, landing hard enough to crack the pavement.
"Hollows are changing behavior," he reported rapidly. "They're abandoning fights. Ignoring patrols. Civilians are being bypassed entirely in some zones."
A murmur spread.
Rukia's jaw tightened.
"They're converging," she said.
"Yes, ma'am. If this continues—" the officer hesitated, then forced it out, "—they may go berserk. A rampage. No pattern. No retreat. Just destruction."
Someone else spoke, quieter, afraid to give shape to the thought.
"...That kind of density could trigger a Menos formation."
The word settled over the street like a death sentence.
Rukia turned slowly, eyes cold, mind already calculating vectors, casualty curves, fallout.
"If a Menos forms inside city limits," another officer added, "we won't be able to evacuate fast enough."
"I'll handle it," Rukia said.
No hesitation.
No bravado.
Fact.
Several heads snapped toward her.
"Vice-Captain—"
"I said I'll handle it."
Her reiatsu sharpened — not flaring, not expanding — condensing, like ice pulled into a single killing edge.
"All evacuation orders stand," she continued. "Mobile cells maintain distance from any high-density convergence points. If a Menos manifests—"
She paused.
"—you disengage immediately."
The officer stiffened. "What about you Vic—?"
Rukia didn't look at him.
"I stay and —"
That was when the sky broke.
A sound like tearing iron ripped across the heavens as a Garganta split open above the eastern blocks, its edges jagged, unstable, bleeding void into the night.
The pressure hit all at once.
Shinigami staggered all across the city.
And from the black wound in the sky—
Something massive began to descend.
A towering silhouette.
A mask stretched impossibly long.
A body like a pillar dragged up from the depths of something ancient and starving.
Menos Grande.
Its presence crushed the air, warped the streetlights, bent the city around it like Karakura itself was bowing under the weight.
Rukia stepped forward.
Frost spiraled outward from her feet, crawling across asphalt and walls alike as Sode no Shirayuki sang — not softly, not gently, but eagerly.
Finally the sword can have her reveng—!
A sound tore through the city.
Not a roar.
Not a Hollow's cry.
A laugh.
Loud. Ragged. Unrestrained.
It ripped across Karakura like a blade dragged through steel, drowning out the Menos' low, hollow howl in an instant.
"HAAAAAAHAHAHAHA—!"
A blinding yellow sphere of reiatsu slammed into the Menos' torso from the side like a meteor.
The impact was obscene.
The blast smashed into the Menos Grande's torso, folding its massive body inward as if struck by a god's fist. Bone cracked. The Hollow was ripped off its footing, lifted helplessly into the air before being hurled sideways.
It crashed through one building.
Then another.
Concrete disintegrated. Steel screamed. Fire burst from ruptured gas lines as the Menos plowed through the block in a rolling avalanche of ruin.
The shockwave followed a heartbeat later.
Windows detonated outward. Street signs snapped free and cartwheeled down the road. People still outside were thrown to the ground, ears ringing, lungs empty as fear finally caught up to them.
Screams erupted.
Not Hollow screams.
Human ones.
Rukia watched it happen.
She didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
She just closed her eyes and let out a slow, tired breath.
As she watched as she felt hundreds, nearly thousands of human Reiatsu signatures disappearing.
Snuffed out.
The fragile warmth of human Reiatsu winked out across Karakura like dying embers, each disappearance leaving behind a thin, cold echo that scraped against her senses. Some were sudden—violent ruptures that tore away without warning. Others flickered, dimmed, and finally went still.
"...That idiot," she murmured.
Behind her—
A presence slid into place without pressure, without warning.
"Oi, Rukia."
She opened her eyes.
Standing beside her, hands tucked casually into his pockets, grin lazy but eyes sharp, was Shinji Hirako.
He tilted his head, watching Zaraki Kenpachi tear back toward the rubble with manic glee.
"...Yeah," Shinji said, tone light, "that tracks."
Another explosion rolled across the block as Zaraki Kenpachi vanished into the collapsing dust cloud with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just been handed a personal invitation to destruction.
Shinji watched him go, as a single bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face.
"...Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.
In the distance, Zaraki's laughter detonated again—wild, echoing, utterly unbothered by the fact that buildings were still standing and civilians were still screaming.
Shinji exhaled slowly through his nose.
How is the Gotei still functioning... he wondered, eyes half-lidded. ...with someone like that on the payroll?
Another yellow flash split the skyline. Something enormous howled in pain. The ground trembled like it was reconsidering its life choices.
Shinji scratched the back of his head.
We've got paperwork. Protocols. Chains of command.
And then there's... that.
Another shockwave tore through the block as Zaraki's blade came down again—raw, overwhelming reiatsu flattening everything in its wake. The Menos howled, buildings crumpled, and—
Shinji winced.
Not at the destruction.
At the echoes.
Several human souls vanished at once, their reiatsu snuffed out not by claws or teeth, but by sheer spiritual pressure—too weak to endure being anywhere near that kind of violence.
Shinji clicked his tongue softly.
"...Damn," he muttered.
At least they won't be eaten, he thought grimly, as they were immediately sent to Soul Society
It was a thin comfort. Barely counted as one.
He exhaled, gaze drifting sideways—just in time to see Rukia straighten.
She rose slowly, brushing ice dust from her sleeve, eyes steady as she took in the battlefield herself. Zaraki laughing. The Menos collapsing. The city breaking around them.
"...Captain Hirako," Rukia said.
Shinji blinked and looked at her.
She was facing him fully now, posture straight despite the exhaustion weighing down her reiatsu. Snow clung faintly to her hair. Her grip on Sode no Shirayuki was firm—but restrained.
"I'll be moving to my primary destination," she continued calmly. "Urahara Shoten."
Shinji raised a brow. "Kisuke's place, huh."
"Yes," Rukia replied. "There are too many Hollows. Too sudden. Too concentrated. I want answers."
Fair, Shinji thought.
She hesitated—just briefly—then bowed her head a fraction.
"While I'm gone," she said, voice respectful, "I request that you take command of civilian protection and containment."
She met his eyes.
"Can you lead in my absence?"
For a moment, Shinji just stared at her.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loud. Not mocking.
Just surprised.
"...Man," he said, shaking his head, "you really are Ichigo's friend."
Rukia blinked.
Shinji waved it off. "You don't gotta be all formal with me, Rukia. I'm not one of those guys."
He grinned, sharp and easy, though his eyes stayed serious.
"Go ask your questions," he said. "I've got this mess covered."
Another distant explosion punctuated his words, Zaraki's laughter rolling like thunder.
Shinji sighed.
"...Well," he added, "as much as anyone can 'cover' that."
He took a step back—and vanished without a sound, slipping away as easily as he'd arrived.
Rukia remained where she was.
For just a moment.
Before disappearing with a swoosh.
December 28th, 2003 — 9:42 PM
Karakura Town — Urahara Shop
Paper talismans lined the walls in dense layers, their inked characters glowing faintly as they reinforced a web of binding kidō anchored deep into the floor. At the center of it all, a Hollow hung suspended in midair—limbs locked, mask cracked, its body twitching uselessly against restraints it couldn't even begin to understand.
Kisuke Urahara stood before it, hat tilted low, fan opening and closing in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
Tap.
Fff—snap.
Tap.
His eyes were narrowed—not amused, not curious.
Concerned.
"...This is fascinating," he murmured.
The Hollow snarled, thrashing harder.
Urahara sighed and stepped forward.
Without ceremony, he drew Benihime and stabbed.
The blade slid cleanly into the Hollow's torso—not deep enough to kill, not shallow enough to be kind. The creature convulsed, a wet, choking sound bubbling from behind its mask as crimson reiatsu leaked and was immediately absorbed by the seals.
Urahara leaned in, eyes sharp now.
A step behind him—
A pressure shifted.
"Let me make something very clear."
Urahara didn't turn.
Isshin Kurosaki stood in the doorway.
"If that thing so much as twitches toward my daughters," Isshin continued, voice low and deadly calm, "I'll kill it."
A pause.
"Then I'll kill you."
The Hollow went still.
Urahara blinked once.
Then laughed.
"Ahhh—Isshin-san," he said lightly, turning at last. "Such a warm parental instinct! Really, it's quite touching."
Isshin didn't smile.
Urahara waved his fan dismissively. "No need to worry. We're very well covered tonight."
He glanced sideways.
A sleek black cat sat atop a stack of crates, tail flicking once as golden eyes tracked the bound Hollow with predatory focus.
Yoruichi Shihōin said nothing—but the air around her carried the unmistakable tension of someone ready to move faster than thought.
"And," Urahara added, eyes shifting toward the wall, "Tessai is in the next room."
As if summoned by the mention—
A faint pulse of layered barriers rippled through the shop, complex kidō arrays stacking over one another with surgical precision.
Tessai Tsukabishi was working.
Specifically, making sure nothing in this room—Hollow included—could sense the faint, dangerous echo still clinging to Yuzu Kurosaki from Hell.
No resonance.
No attraction.
No risk.
Four captains, Urahara thought.
Well.
Former captains, technically—but the point stood.
He turned back to the Hollow.
The fan opened again, slower now.
Tap.
Fff—snap.
"This many Hollows," he murmured, tone finally losing its levity. "This level of convergence..."
His eyes darkened beneath the brim of his hat.
Another precise thrust of Benihime sent the Hollow convulsing again, seals flaring brighter as data bled free.
"...It's a —"
The sliding door slammed open.
Cold air rushed in, carrying the distant echoes of battle and the sharp scent of frost. Spiritual pressure followed a heartbeat later—controlled, disciplined, but strained.
Urahara's sentence died mid-word.
He turned.
Standing in the doorway, shoulders rising and falling with slightly uneven breaths, snow clinging to the hem of her uniform, was Rukia Kuchiki.
"...Ah! Rukia-chan," Kisuke Urahara said brightly, fan snapping open as if this were a casual evening visit. "My apologies, but as you can see, the candy store is closed for now, so if you wis—"
A vein ticked at Rukia's temple.
She stepped inside.
The temperature in the room dropped a fraction.
"Urahara," she said flatly.
The fan stopped mid-flutter.
He smiled wider. "—hing to peruse our seasonal sele—"
"Urahara."
The smile froze.
Behind him, the bound Hollow thrashed weakly, seals flaring as Benihime remained embedded.
Rukia's eyes shifted past Urahara's shoulder.
She blinked once.
"...What," she asked slowly, "is a Hollow doing inside your shop?"
Urahara followed her gaze, then looked back at her with exaggerated innocence.
"Oh, this?" he said lightly. "Just a customer with... behavioral issues."
The Hollow shrieked.
Rukia's stare did not change.
"...You're interrogating it."
"Studying," Urahara corrected. "Interrogating implies intent. This is more... exploratory."
Another twitch from the creature. Another flare of kidō. Inked talismans pulsed brighter along the walls as the bindings tightened.
Rukia took two steps forward, her geta quiet on the tatami.
"The city is overrun," she said. "Hollows are converging without command, without pattern. A Menos manifested inside the perimeter. Civilians are dying."
Her gaze flicked to the bound creature again. "And you're—what—taking notes?"
Urahara's smile thinned.
Benihime slid free with a wet sound. The Hollow convulsed, then sagged against the restraints, mask fractured, reiatsu leaking in thin ribbons that the seals immediately drank.
"I'm confirming a hypothesis," Urahara replied softly. "Because if I'm right..."
He closed the fan.
"...this isn't an invasion."
Rukia's jaw tightened. "Then what is it?"
Urahara glanced once toward the wall where Tessai's barriers pulsed, once toward the cat, and finally back to the Hollow.
"A reaction," he said.
The word hung in the air.
"To what?" Rukia pressed.
Urahara opened his mouth—
—and paused.
For a fraction of a second, his eyes drifted past her, toward the door, toward the city beyond... then back to the Hollow... then back to her.
He lifted one shoulder.
Then the other.
"...I don't know," he said.
Completely straight-faced.
Fan dangling loosely from his fingers. Eyes wide. Utterly, devastatingly clueless.
Rukia's eyebrow twitched.
Her fist lifted on pure instinct.
The black cat on the crate didn't even blink.
Isshin sighed audibly from the doorway.
Urahara leaned back half an inch—just enough to avoid the incoming strike that absolutely would have connected—
Then his expression changed.
The shrug melted away.
The smile thinned.
His eyes sharpened beneath the brim of his hat.
"...That," he said quietly, turning back to the bound Hollow, "is what I'm trying to find out."
Rukia exhaled.
Long. Controlled. The kind of breath drilled into soldiers who learned early that anger wasted time.
Her fist lowered.
The room came back into focus—the seals, the talismans, the faint hum of barriers in the next room, the bound Hollow twitching uselessly against its restraints.
Then her gaze shifted.
And stopped.
Isshin Kurosaki stood a few paces behind Urahara, leaning lightly against the doorframe in his human body. No haori. No captain's presence pressing against the walls. Just a man in plain clothes, watching the scene with quiet, unreadable eyes.
Watching her.
Rukia's shoulders stiffened.
The air in her lungs felt suddenly heavier.
She looked away—then back—unsure what the correct distance was, what the correct expression was. Respect? Apology? Neutrality? None of them felt right.
Because the last time they had stood in the same room—
She had taken something from him.
The memory surfaced uninvited:
Her voice, steady because it had to be.
The chamber's cold light.
The decree from the newly reformed Central 46 resting in her hands like a blade disguised as paper.
If you remain in the Human World, Kurosaki Isshin... your Saketsu and Hakusui will be sealed.
She had delivered the order without trembling.
She had bowed.
And she had left immediately after the deed was done, but before the weight of what she'd done could catch up to her.
Now it stood in front of her in human form, breathing quietly, eyes tired but sharp.
Guilt crept in, thin and persistent.
If he hadn't done that...
If he'd kept his captain's strength...
Maybe Yuzu wouldn't have been dragged into Hell.
Rukia's fingers curled slightly at her side.
Isshin said nothing.
He didn't accuse her.
Didn't frown.
He simply held her gaze for a second longer
—and then his expression softened.
Warmly.
"...Rukia-chan," Isshin Kurosaki said quietly.
No rank.
No formality.
Just her name.
He pushed off the doorframe and took a step forward, stopping at a respectful distance—as if unsure whether to close it, as if aware that too much familiarity might break something fragile.
"You made it," he added, voice gentler than she remembered.
Rukia blinked.
The apology she'd rehearsed a hundred times caught in her throat, strangled by the simple normalcy of his tone. He wasn't angry. He wasn't cold.
He looked... relieved.
Like a man who'd opened a door expecting emptiness and found someone still standing there.
"I—" she started, then faltered. "Kurosaki—"
He waved it off lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Still calling me that, huh?" he said.
Rukia opened her mouth—closed it—then tried again.
"Kurosa—"
He raised a hand, laughing under his breath.
"C'mon," Isshin Kurosaki said, tone warm, almost teasing. "Just call me Father already."
Rukia froze.
"I mean it," he added, scratching the back of his head with easy familiarity. "You practically lived at our place. Ate our food. Yelled at my son. Threatened me with paperwork."
A beat.
"You're basically my daughter."
Silence filled the room.
"...That would be inappropriate," she said at last, voice quieter than intended.
Isshin grinned.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Probably."
Then he shrugged. "Still true."
Rukia looked away, a faint heat creeping into her cheeks she absolutely refused to acknowledge, overpowering all her previous thoughts and guilt.
Behind them, Kisuke Urahara coughed once into his fan—far too loudly to be accidental.
"I believe the term is 'unofficial adoption,'" Urahara offered helpfully.
Rukia turned just enough to glare.
Urahara immediately pretended to be very interested in the Hollow's spiritual fluctuations.
Isshin laughed again, softer this time.
"No pressure," he added, raising both hands in surrender. "You can keep calling me Kurosaki if you want."
He paused, eyes gentling.
"...But you're family, Rukia. Whether you like the label or not."
The word settled in the air—not heavy.
Just... there.
Rukia inhaled slowly.
"...Understood, Isshin-san," she said at last.
Not Father.
Not yet.
But not Kurosaki either.
The shift was small.
It meant everything.
Isshin's eyes softened in a way he didn't try to hide this time. He didn't step closer, didn't reach out—he simply nodded once, like a man accepting a promise that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
"Good," he said quietly. "That works."
Behind them, the bound Hollow convulsed, seals flaring as Kisuke Urahara adjusted the kidō with a flick of his fan. The room pulsed with controlled pressure, then settled again into its careful hush.
For a heartbeat, it almost felt like a living room instead of a battlefield's shadow.
Almost.
Rukia straightened, the softness receding behind duty as naturally as a blade returning to its sheath.
"I came for answers," she said, turning back toward Urahara. "The Hollow density. The convergence. This is not normal incursion behavior."
Urahara hummed. "You noticed."
"I nearly died under it," she replied flatly. "I noticed."
A faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, then faded as he turned back to the bound Hollow, eyes narrowing as the seals beneath it continued to bleed information into the layered array etched into the floor. Lines of kidō flared, recalculated, collapsed, then reformed. Benihime's edge hovered just close enough to draw another sample if needed.
Urahara leaned in.
"...Hm."
He adjusted his grip. Shifted the fan. Changed the angle of the seal by a hair's breadth.
"...Huh."
Another pause.
His brow creased.
"That's odd."
Rukia stiffened. "What is it?"
Urahara straightened abruptly.
"Rukia-chan!" he called out brightly.
She stepped closer at once, leaning in despite herself. "You found something?"
He glanced down at her, eyes wide.
"...I've got... "
Her attention sharpened. Her posture tightened. Even Isshin leaned forward a fraction.
Urahara smiled.
Then—
"...Nothing."
The word dropped like a brick.
Rukia's foot slipped.
She hit the floor face-first with a thud.
Urahara blinked and peered down at her, tilting his head.
"...Why are you on the ground?"
From the crate nearby came a very unhelpful, very smug snort of laughter.
The black cat—Yoruichi Shihōin—had turned her head away, shoulders very obviously shaking.
Rukia slowly lifted her face from the floor.
Her glare could have frozen Hell.
"...Explain," she said.
Urahara coughed lightly into his fan. "Right. Of course."
He turned serious.
Completely.
"No distortions," he said, tapping the array with the fan. " No residual tampering I can trace."
He gestured at the Hollow. "It's a perfectly normal Hollow."
Rukia stared.
He paced once, then twice, eyes sharp now, mind clearly racing.
"Hollows aren't supposed to behave like this without an external stimulus. Convergence at this scale requires something—fear amplification, spiritual bait, etcetera etcetera.
He stopped.
"But this one?" he said, tapping the seal again. "It's clean. Disturbingly clean."
He glanced toward the ceiling, then—notably—away.
"There's only one person I know who could lace an influence this subtle into Hollows without leaving fingerprints."
The room cooled.
Rukia's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean—"
Urahara sighed.
"...She's sealed," he said quickly. "Deep. Multiple redundancies. Failsafes on top of failsafes."
He held up two fingers.
"Ninety-nine point nine eight percent chance it's not Aizen Sōsuke."
Isshin snorted. "Comforting."
Urahara grimaced. "Yes, well. That remaining zero point zero two percent?"
He snapped the fan shut.
"I'm going to verify it doesn't exist."
Rukia rose fully now, frost edging back into her reiatsu.
"So whatever's wrong with these Hollows..."
"...Is practically undetectable," Urahara finished. "Unrecorded. Unprecedented."
He looked at the bound Hollow one last time.
The seals pulsed.
The data lines crawled.
The results stayed the same.
Nothing.
Urahara exhaled quietly through his nose.
Mayuri, he thought.
The name alone tasted like chemicals and locked doors.
If anyone could dissect this anomaly down to its last impossible thread, it would be Mayuri Kurotsuchi. If anyone could also turn the entire situation into a grotesque experiment with side effects measured in screaming...
...also Mayuri.
Urahara's fan slowed in his hand.
How, he wondered, do you convince him to help without giving him a reason to enjoy it?
He pictured the conversation.
Regretted it instantly.
Then he shook his head once, physically dismissing the thought like dust on his sleeve.
Not yet.
He has more pressing matters as he turned—
—and frowned.
Across the room, Rukia Kuchiki had gone still at the exact same moment.
Their eyes met.
They'd both felt it.
The air didn't spike.
It sank.
A pressure rolled through Karakura—not loud, not chaotic—deep. Ancient. Dense enough to bend spiritual perception around it like gravity warping light.
Isshin's posture sharpened.
The black cat's ears twitched.
Even the bound Hollow shuddered, its mask trembling as if something far above its station had just entered the same world.
Urahara's fan snapped shut.
"...That's impossible," he murmured.
Rukia's voice was barely a whisper. "...A Vasto Lorde."
The word didn't echo.
It settled.
Urahara's mind raced automatically—timelines, evolution rates, population curves in Hueco Mundo. The war. The purge. Aizen Sōsuke turning most of the known Vasto Lorde into Arrancar, and the rest being hunted down or erased in the aftermath.
"Too soon," Urahara said, more to himself than anyone else. "Way too soon."
Natural Vasto Lorde evolution took decades.
Centuries, sometimes.
"At the absolute earliest," he added, eyes narrowing, "another fifty years before one forms organically. Minimum."
Rukia's grip tightened on Sode no Shirayuki. "Then it isn't natural."
"No," Urahara agreed softly. "It isn't."
The pressure pulsed again—distant, but undeniably present. Not roaming. Not hunting.
Arriving.
Isshin's jaw clenched. "Tell me that's not inside city limits."
Urahara didn't answer immediately.
Because he could already feel where it was.
And he didn't like the direction.
"...It's in Karakura," he said at last.
A beat passed.
Then another thought followed, heavier than the first.
"...And so is Zaraki Kenpachi."
The room grew colder without the temperature changing.
Somewhere beyond the paper walls, far across the city—
A roar tore through the night.
And it wasn't a hollow one.
The bound Hollow in the center of the room shrank against its seals, mask trembling.
Urahara's fan stilled mid-tap.
"...Please tell me the civilians were evacuated," he asked quietly, eyes still fixed on nothing as his senses stretched outward.
Across Karakura, fragile lights winked out.
Hundreds.
Some souls rising upward in pale threads—
some dragged screaming downward into darker currents—
His thoughts began assembling calculations, projections, containment plans—
—and were abruptly cut short.
Again.
A soft chime broke the room's tension.
Rukia's phone.
She answered on instinct.
"...Kuchiki speaking."
Urahara turned slightly, watching her face instead of listening to the device. He didn't need the words. Expressions were faster.
At first, her posture was neutral.
Then her eyes sharpened.
Then the air around her shifted.
Her reiatsu didn't flare—
it dropped, condensing into something cold and precise, like frost forming on glass.
The room noticed.
Isshin straightened.
The cat's tail went still.
Even the talismans on the walls flickered once.
"...Understood," Rukia said at last.
She lowered the phone.
Urahara didn't ask immediately. He already knew the answer wouldn't be good; he was simply gauging how bad.
"...Well?" he prompted gently.
Rukia's gaze lifted to meet his.
"Ichigo Kurosaki's Substitute badge sent a signal," she said. "And it wasn't in Karakura."
The fan stopped mid-motion.
For the first time that night, Kisuke Urahara didn't have a clever response ready.
"…Outside?" he repeated quietly.
Rukia nodded once. "Beyond the city limits. Moving."
Silence stretched across the room like a tightening wire.
The black cat's tail stilled completely.
Urahara lowered the fan.
And Isshin Kurosaki…
Isshin stared.
His mind was in shock.
His brow creased.
"…Say that again," he said at last, voice oddly calm. "Slowly."
For half a second he wondered—absurdly—if the gigai body was finally starting to go senile. If age had crept into the joints and, apparently, the ears. If he'd simply misheard.
A thunderous BOOM shook the shop, dust sifting from the rafters as something enormous collided with something equally enormous somewhere across Karakura.
Isshin didn't even blink.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a quieter alarm chimed—Karin is outside.She went looking for him.She's protecting civilians.
And out there now—
A Vasto Lorde.
His jaw tightened, the thought sharpening into something he would need to act on—soon, maybe immediately—
"…Kurosaki Ichigo has been identified outside Karakura's barriers," Rukia Kuchiki repeated, precise and formal, answering the question he'd asked a moment too late. "His Substitute badge confirmed movement beyond the perimeter."
Rukia continued, voice steady despite the chaos outside as she got another notification. " The signal has been interrupted. A secondary directive has been issued to all Soul Reapers. Once the Hollow incursion is contained, units are to assist the Onmitsukidō—Second Division—in locating him."
She paused.
"And bringing him back."
The word capturing didn't need to be spoken. It was implied. Written between the lines like a seal stamped in invisible ink.
Isshin's expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.
He looked past Rukia for a moment—past the seals, the bound Hollow, the careful calm of Kisuke Urahara—and listened to the city breathe in broken rhythms.
Contain the Hollows.Find my son.Bring him back.
Another boom. Closer this time.
Karin is still out there.
The thoughts overlapped, collided, demanded priority.
Isshin exhaled slowly, the breath carrying equal parts relief and dread.
"Identified," he repeated quietly. "So you know where he is."
Rukia's eyes lowered a fraction. "We know where he was. The signal has completely disappeared..."
Then Kisuke Urahara clapped his hands, bringing attention to himself.
Once.
Soft.
Deliberate.
"Alright," he said, tone shifting—no longer analytical, no longer playful. "We're dividing priorities."
The room moved with him. Not physically at first—mentally. Lines were drawn, paths decided, consequences accepted.
"Rukia-chan," he continued, eyes sliding toward Rukia Kuchiki, "casualty mitigation. You already have the authority and the temperament. Stabilize the civilian zones, reinforce retreat corridors, and make sure this city doesn't bleed more than it already has."
Rukia nodded once. No hesitation. "Understood."
"Yoruichi-san," Urahara added, turning slightly.
The black cat stretched—and in the space between one blink and the next, she was gone. The faint ripple of Yoruichi Shihōin's presence slipped through the walls like a shadow remembering how to move.
"Onmitsukidō coordination," Urahara finished lightly. "And… make sure nothing unfortunate happens to Kurosaki Ichigo while everyone's being helpful."
A soft, amused huff echoed from somewhere outside the shop.
Urahara adjusted his hat.
"I'll handle the anomaly itself," he murmured. "If there's a pattern behind these Hollows, I'll find it."
Then his gaze shifted.
To Isshin.
And stopped.
For a heartbeat, the room narrowed to just the two of them.
He remembered.
The decree.The sealing.
The points on Isshin's soul where power had once flowed freely—now locked behind decisions made for love and paid for in silence.
Urahara's smile thinned, not with mockery, but with something close to regret.
"…Isshin-san," he said quietly.
Isshin looked up.
Urahara held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, reading the tension, the readiness, the instinct screaming to move despite the body's limits.
Then he shook his head once.
"Stay here," he said. "Protect Yuzu with Tessai Tsukabishi."
No embellishment. No softening.
Just truth.
Isshin's jaw flexed—but he didn't argue.
He understood the directive beneath the words: You are needed here. Not because you are weak. Because this is where your strength still matters.
Paper doors slid open.
Footsteps faded.
Reiatsu thinned as one presence after another left the shop—Rukia's cold precision, Yoruichi's vanishing shadow, Urahara's calculated calm—all dissolving into the chaos outside.
And then—
Silence.
Isshin stood alone in the back room, the hum of Tessai's barriers the only constant sound left. The bound Hollow twitched weakly, no longer important enough to notice.
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, Isshin lifted his hand.
His fingers brushed his abdomen first—then his chest.
The two points.
The places where he had sealed away his Saketsu and Hakusui.The places where captain-level power had once lived like a second heartbeat.
There was nothing there now.
...
Like father.
Like son.
...
To be continued.
Next chapter will be quicker, and chapters will probably be shorter so that i will probably update faster, and rework them faster.