The classroom was already buzzing with low conversation when the teacher turned toward the door.
"Settle down, everyone," he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard. "We have a transfer student joining us today."
That alone drew attention. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor as students shifted, curiosity rippling through the room. A few heads turned fully toward the entrance. Others pretended not to care while very clearly caring.
The door slid open.
Ichigo stepped inside.
There was a brief pause, not silence exactly, but a noticeable hitch in the room's rhythm as people took him in. He wasn't imposing in some dramatic, cinematic way, but he stood out all the same. He was tall, noticeably so compared to most of the class, with the build of someone who stayed active whether he meant to or not. Broad shoulders under a standard uniform, arms defined without being exaggerated. And then there was his hair, bright orange and impossible to ignore, standing out sharply against the muted tones of the classroom.
That was enough.
The reactions came quickly.
A couple of guys near the back snickered quietly, leaning toward each other with grins that carried a mix of amusement and judgment. One of them tilted his head, clearly sizing Ichigo up in the lazy, competitive way high school boys often did.
"Seriously?" someone muttered under his breath. "That hair's real?"
Another huffed a laugh. "Looks like trouble."
Not loud enough to be outright rude, but loud enough to be heard.
The girls reacted differently. Whispering spread in soft bursts, heads leaning close together, eyes flicking toward Ichigo and then away again. Some were curious, others cautious. A few looked openly interested, though none said anything bold enough to draw attention.
"He's tall…"
"Do you think he dyes it?"
"He doesn't look like he talks much."
Ichigo felt all of it without looking directly at anyone. He stood near the front of the room, hands relaxed at his sides, expression neutral. Inside, he sighed.
Right. I forgot.
Karakura High had long since gotten used to him. The stares had stopped years ago, the comments dulled into background noise. Here, though, he was new again. The orange hair. The build. The general air of someone who didn't quite blend in.
Guess this means I'll be dealing with idiots again, he thought tiredly. Not because he wanted conflict, but because experience had taught him that someone always tried to provoke the unfamiliar.
The teacher cleared his throat sharply.
"That's enough," he said, casting a warning glance across the room. "I expect better behavior than that."
The snickering died down, though the attention didn't disappear.
He turned back to Ichigo with a polite smile. "Go ahead and introduce yourself."
Ichigo nodded once.
"Kurosaki Ichigo," he said simply. His voice was calm, neither loud nor timid. "I transferred here recently. Nice to meet you."
A few students blinked, as if expecting more. When nothing followed, the teacher nodded.
"Thank you. Everyone, Kurosaki is to be treated with respect. I won't tolerate unnecessary remarks or behavior."
That earned a few half hearted murmurs of agreement.
"And Kurosaki," the teacher added, "after class, please come speak with me. We'll need to discuss joining an after school club."
Ichigo inclined his head slightly. "Okay."
The teacher gestured toward an empty seat near the window. Ichigo walked down the aisle, aware of eyes following him but choosing not to acknowledge them. He set his bag down, pulled out his chair, and sat.
The desk felt the same as any other. The classroom smelled like chalk and paper and faint cleaner. Ordinary.
The whispers gradually softened as the lesson resumed, though curiosity lingered in glances and half turned heads.
Ichigo looked out the window, resting his chin lightly against his hand.
Here we go again, he thought, not bitter, just resigned.
The final bell rang with a dull chime, releasing the class in a sudden rush of movement and noise. Chairs scraped back, bags were slung over shoulders, and conversations resumed as if they'd only been paused rather than stopped. Ichigo stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the flow of students file past the door, their voices blending into an indistinct hum.
"Kurosaki," the teacher called, lifting a hand slightly. "A moment, please."
Ichigo rose with a quiet sigh and made his way to the desk at the front of the room. The teacher was already reaching into a drawer, his movements unhurried, practiced. He pulled out a small stack of colorful pamphlets and fanned them out like cards.
"Transfer students are required to join at least one after school club," he said mildly. "Helps with social integration. Keeps you busy."
Ichigo nodded once. He'd expected that much.
The teacher glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. "Do you like sports?"
For just a second, Ichigo's thoughts drifted. Rain soaked fields. The sting in his palms. The sharp focus of watching a ball hurtle toward him, instincts taking over as he threw himself sideways. It hadn't lasted long, that brief stint as a goalkeeper, but he'd enjoyed it more than he usually admitted.
"Yeah," he said after a beat. "I like football."
The teacher's face brightened immediately. "Good choice."
He selected a pamphlet from the pile and slid it across the desk. The cover showed a group of smiling students in matching uniforms, mid practice, frozen in motion. Ichigo picked it up, glanced at it, then nodded.
"Thanks."
He turned slightly, already preparing to leave. Clubs weren't important to him. This was just another box to tick, another requirement to get through. He could show up, keep his head down, and avoid unnecessary attention.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he paused.
"…Do you have anything else?" he asked, not entirely sure why the words came out.
The teacher blinked, then chuckled. "Oh? Not much of a team player?"
"I just want to see my options," Ichigo replied evenly.
The teacher shrugged and reached back into the drawer, pulling out another, thicker bundle of pamphlets. He placed them on the desk and shuffled through them lazily, naming a few as he went. "Literature club. Science club. Art club. Tea ceremony. Board games…"
Ichigo's gaze skimmed over the covers until one title made him stop.
He picked it up.
"Occult Club?" he read aloud, eyebrow lifting despite himself.
The teacher laughed softly. "Oh, that one?"
Ichigo looked up.
"That club's on its last legs," the teacher said, waving a hand dismissively. "Lack of members. I think it's getting shut down soon, honestly. Administration's been breathing down their necks for months."
Ichigo glanced back down at the pamphlet. The design was amateurish. Dark colors. Cheap printing. Strange symbols that were probably meant to look mysterious.
"It'd actually help them out if you joined," the teacher continued. "Might keep it alive a little longer." He smiled, clearly amused by the situation. "Didn't peg you for being so spiritual, Kurosaki san."
Something cold settled in Ichigo's chest.
He lifted his gaze slowly, meeting the teacher's eyes. The words echoed unpleasantly in his head.
An hour. That's how long they'd known each other. An hour of surface level observations and assumptions. And yet the teacher spoke as if he'd figured Ichigo out already.
Ichigo's grip tightened on the pamphlet.
The hell would you know about me, he thought sharply. You just met me an hour ago.
The decision crystallized in that instant. Clean. Absolute.
"I'll take this one," Ichigo said.
Before the teacher could even respond, Ichigo snatched the occult club pamphlet from the stack and tucked it under his arm. He turned and headed for the door without another word.
The teacher watched him go, utterly unconcerned. "Alright then," he said cheerfully. "Good luck, Kurosaki san."
Ichigo didn't look back.
Behind him, the teacher reached into his desk drawer once more, this time pulling out a small metal flask. He unscrewed the cap with a practiced twist, took a discreet sip, and leaned back in his chair as the classroom finally emptied.
Another student sorted. Another problem delegated.
Ichigo walked down the hallway, pamphlet clenched in his hand, unaware that he'd just stepped directly toward something that refused to stay buried.
Ichigo didn't hesitate when he reached the clubroom door.
He slid it open and stepped inside.
The room was… smaller than he expected. A little cluttered. A folding table sat near the center, scattered with papers, cheap props, and what looked suspiciously like homemade charms. Posters lined the walls, most of them clearly printed off the internet. The atmosphere wasn't eerie so much as earnest, like a group of people trying very hard to believe in something.
Three heads snapped toward him at once.
The girl was the first to react.
Her eyes widened, mouth falling open as she stared at him like he'd just materialized out of thin air. "W-wait," she said, blinking rapidly. "You're… you're a person. Like. A real person."
Ichigo paused. "…Yeah?"
She let out a small, strangled noise and shot to her feet so fast her chair screeched backward. "SASAKI," she shouted, then clapped both hands over her mouth and tried again, quieter but no less frantic. "I mean. Hi. Welcome. Please come in."
The boy beside her, Iguchi, looked just as stunned, though he recovered faster. He stood too, bowing a little too deeply. "Y-yeah! Welcome to the Occult Research Club! We're really glad you're here!"
They were both smiling at him far too intensely.
Ichigo shifted his weight, instantly wary. "Uh… I'm Kurosaki. Ichigo."
Sasaki gasped like she'd been waiting her whole life to hear that. "Kurosaki-kun!" she said brightly, already moving to pull out a chair for him. "Please sit! Are you thirsty? We don't really have snacks but I can run to the vending machines if you want."
Iguchi nodded quickly. "Yeah! Or we can start an activity right away! We usually do stuff like spirit inquiries or urban legends or—"
"Hold on," Ichigo interrupted, holding up a hand. "You don't need to do all that."
Both of them froze.
"…We don't?" Sasaki asked carefully.
Ichigo sighed. "I'm just here because the club needs members. You don't have to roll out a welcome parade."
They exchanged a glance.
Then Sasaki straightened, hands clenched into excited fists. "That still counts! We have a new member! Do you know how long it's been since someone actually joined?"
Iguchi nodded solemnly. "Administration keeps threatening to shut us down."
That's when the third one spoke up.
"Oh, seriously?"
The boy lounging against the window frame looked utterly relaxed, hands tucked behind his head, expression bright and curious. Pink hair caught the light as he leaned forward slightly, eyes locking onto Ichigo with immediate interest.
"Didn't expect someone new," he said cheerfully. "I'm Itadori Yuji."
He took two steps closer, peering at Ichigo's head with zero sense of personal space.
"…Is your hair dyed?"
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Ichigo's brow twitched.
His shoulders tensed. His fists clenched before he even realized he was doing it. Old instincts flared, sharp and immediate.
"No," he snapped. "It's not."
Yuji froze.
"Oh!" He immediately raised both hands, palms out. "Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean it like that. My bad."
He laughed awkwardly, then grinned and pointed at his own hair. "It's just, y'know. Same problem. People always ask me too."
Ichigo blinked.
The tension didn't vanish instantly, but it cracked.
He studied Yuji for a second. The open expression. The complete lack of malice. The way he genuinely seemed more curious than judgmental.
"…Tch," Ichigo muttered, unclenching his fists. "At least mine doesn't look like a salmon."
Yuji gasped, offended. "Oi! This is a very respectable color!"
Sasaki giggled.
Iguchi covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Yuji pointed at Ichigo triumphantly. "Yeah? Well yours looks like it lost a fight with a traffic cone."
Ichigo snorted before he could stop himself.
"…You're annoying."
Yuji beamed. "I get that a lot."
Somehow, just like that, the edge was gone.
They sat around the table soon after, Sasaki practically vibrating with excitement as she pulled out a battered notebook.
"Okay!" she said. "Since we have a new member, we should do something special. How about a spirit question game?"
Iguchi nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! The one where we ask questions and see if anything responds."
Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "You're just asking empty air questions?"
"Basically," Yuji said cheerfully.
They dimmed the lights slightly, set a few candles out more for atmosphere than necessity, and Sasaki cleared her throat dramatically.
"Spirits of this room," she intoned, trying very hard to sound serious. "If you're here, answer us honestly. What's your favorite snack?"
Nothing happened.
"…Okay," Iguchi said quickly. "Different question. Spirits, how many fingers am I holding up?"
Yuji leaned over. "That's cheating, you're holding them behind your back."
Ichigo watched the whole thing unfold, deadpan at first, then slowly less so. Their enthusiasm was infectious. Harmless. Dumb in a way that reminded him of easier days.
"Spirits," Yuji added solemnly, "if Kurosaki joins this club permanently, is that a good thing?"
A breeze fluttered the curtains.
Sasaki gasped. "Did you feel that?!"
Iguchi's eyes widened. "That totally counts!"
Ichigo scoffed. "That was the window."
Yuji grinned at him. "See? Already fitting in."
And annoyingly… it felt true.
The door slid open abruptly.
"All of you, out," a stern voice said.
A man in a suit stood there, clipboard in hand. "This room is scheduled to be vacated due to prolonged inactivity."
"What?!" Sasaki shot to her feet. "We're doing activities right now!"
The man adjusted his glasses. "Unfortunately, your club still does not meet the minimum member requirement."
Iguchi frowned. "We need three, right?"
"Correct."
Sasaki pointed immediately. "We have four!"
The man paused.
He looked at Yuji. Then Iguchi. Then Sasaki.
Then Ichigo.
His face flushed slightly. "I… didn't think that student was part of this club."
Ichigo's scowl snapped back into place instantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The man opened his mouth—
"YUUUJI!"
A booming voice echoed down the hallway.
A track coach stormed into view, glaring straight at Yuji. "Enough is enough! Nationals are coming up and you're still skipping practice!"
Yuji picked his nose casually. "Nah."
The coach's eye twitched. "Fine. Shot put. Right now."
Yuji hesitated, then glanced at Ichigo.
A slow, devious grin spread across his face.
"Only if Kurosaki does it with me."
"What?!" Ichigo barked. "No—"
"Done!" the coach said, giving a thumbs up.
Yuji grabbed Ichigo's wrist immediately. "Let's go!"
Ichigo was dragged down the hallway, protests unheard.
Why is so much happening today, he thought, as the clubroom disappeared behind them.
And somewhere deep inside, something stirred, amused despite itself.
The shot put field sat bathed in late afternoon light, the dirt scuffed and uneven from countless practices. Ichigo stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching this whole thing spiral further out of control by the second.
The coach wasted no time.
"WATCH CLOSELY," he barked, grabbing the heavy metal sphere and stepping into the ring. "THIS is how it's done!"
He wound up with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times, muscles tensing as he spun and released the shot with a sharp grunt.
The ball sailed through the air in a clean arc and landed with a solid thud far down the field.
"Respectable," the coach said, nodding to himself. "That's the benchmark."
Yuji stepped forward immediately, hands clasped behind his head. "Cool."
He picked up the shot put.
Ichigo noticed it right away. Yuji didn't test the weight. Didn't adjust his grip. Didn't even look particularly serious. He just rolled his shoulders once, stepped into the ring, and threw.
There was no dramatic wind up.
No visible strain.
Just a smooth, casual motion, like tossing a rock into a river.
The shot put vanished.
For a fraction of a second, Ichigo genuinely lost track of it. His eyes snapped upward, following the blur as it tore through the air far faster than it had any right to. It landed with a thunderous crash so far down the field that dust kicked up in a delayed plume.
Silence.
The coach's clipboard slipped from his fingers and hit the ground.
His jaw hung open.
"…What," he breathed.
Ichigo stared.
Not in awe exactly. Not fear either. Just that sharp, instinctive something's wrong here prickle crawling up his spine. He'd seen superhuman feats before. He'd been superhuman. But seeing it now, stripped of context, stripped of reiatsu and spiritual pressure, made it feel… wrong in a different way.
"That wasn't normal," Ichigo muttered.
Yuji leaned back, satisfied. "Huh. Felt a little light."
The coach snapped back to life like he'd been struck by lightning.
"YOU— YOU SAW THAT, RIGHT?!" he shouted, spinning toward Ichigo like he needed confirmation from reality itself. "THAT WASN'T A FLUKE!"
Ichigo scowled. "Yeah. I saw it."
The coach grabbed Ichigo by the shoulders suddenly. "YOUR TURN."
"What?!" Ichigo barked. "No, hold on—"
Too late.
The shot put was shoved into his hands.
It was heavier than it looked. Solid. Cold. Familiar in an unpleasant way. Ichigo stepped into the ring reluctantly, rolling his neck once as his irritation simmered.
This is stupid, he thought. I don't need this.
Still… he remembered.
Form. Balance. Breath.
He exhaled slowly and threw.
The ball cut through the air cleanly, landing hard.
Far.
Not that far.
A marker was rushed out.
The distance was measured.
Just under three meters shy of Yuji's throw.
The coach screamed.
"I KNEW IT— I KNEW IT— DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?!"
He began pacing in manic circles, hands tangled in his hair. "TWO OF YOU. TWO. THIS SCHOOL— NO, THIS COUNTRY—"
Yuji looked at Ichigo with wide, impressed eyes. "Whoa. You're strong too, huh?"
Ichigo stared at the field, then at his hands.
"…Tch."
Sasaki, who had been watching from the sidelines, looked genuinely pale. "That… that shouldn't be possible," she whispered. "That's not human."
Iguchi nodded slowly. "Statistically speaking, that's absurd."
The coach rounded on Yuji again. "YOU'RE COMING TO PRACTICE."
Yuji waved. "Nope."
Then he turned and jogged off, completely unbothered.
"HEY!" the coach shouted after him.
A spiky haired boy appeared down the path, shouting Yuji's name. Ichigo glanced at him briefly and immediately looked away.
Why does he look like that, Ichigo thought flatly. And why does he look weirdly… feminine.
Before he could dwell on it, Sasaki grabbed his sleeve.
"Come with us!" she said urgently.
"What," Ichigo replied flatly.
"We found a cursed object!" Iguchi added.
Ichigo scowled deeply. "You're joking."
They dragged him anyway.
Ichigo sighed, shoulders slumping as he allowed himself to be pulled along.
"…I swear," he muttered, "I should've joined football."