The first light of morning crept through the blinds like a thief, stealing across Rukia's face in golden stripes. She awoke not with a start, but with the slow, deliberate awareness of a soldier trained to never be surprised. Her nose wrinkled at the familiar scents surrounding her—stale hospital antiseptic clinging to the sheets, the faint metallic tang of yesterday's rain, and beneath it all, the warm, human smell of Shinichi's room.
*Thud.*
The sound registered before her eyes fully opened. A steady, rhythmic pounding against the floorboards.
*Thud.*
Her fingers curled into the sheets. That sound—she hadn't heard it in weeks. Not since before the hospital.
*Thud.*
Rukia's eyes snapped open. There, in the center of a perfect rectangle of sunlight, Shinichi pumped out push-ups with single-minded intensity. His bare back glistened with sweat, muscles rippling beneath skin still marked with fading scars. The morning light caught every detail—the tension in his corded forearms, the way his shoulder blades moved like wings beneath his skin, the single bead of sweat tracing the valley of his spine before disappearing into the waistband of his sweats.
Her left eye twitched.
"Shinichi." Her voice was morning-rough, still thick with sleep.
*Thud. Thud. Thud.* The rhythm continued, undisturbed.
Rukia inhaled through her nose—three counts in, four counts out—the way she'd been taught in the Seireitei. "Shinichi," she tried again, sharper now.
Nothing. His breathing remained steady, his movements unbroken.
With the sigh of a woman who had fought dangerous hollows and yet still found herself dealing with utter fools, Rukia threw off the covers. The morning air raised goosebumps on her bare arms as she crossed the room, her feet avoiding the creaky floorboard by pure instinct. She paused behind him, watching the play of muscles across his back, the way his scars stretched dangerously with each movement.
Her right foot drew back with the precision of a trained warrior.
*WHAM!*
The kick connected with his ribs with perfect accuracy, sending him skidding across the floor until he collided with the dresser. The impact made the glass kept on it wobble precariously.
"Goddammit, Rukia!" Shinichi wheezed, clutching his side. His hospital bracelet—that damn plastic band he still hadn't taken off—clattered against the floorboards. "What the hell?"
Rukia stood over him, backlit by the rising sun. She crossed her arms, the morning light catching the faint scars on her own arms—reminders that she knew exactly what recovery should look like. "You," she said, each word sharp enough to draw blood, "were discharged from the hospital. Yesterday."
Shinichi scowled up at her, his chest heaving. "You kicking me hurts worse than the damn push-ups, you know."
She knelt on his back, leaning down until her bangs brushed his ear. "Let me explain something," she whispered, sweet as poisoned honey. "When. Humans. Get. Discharged." She emphasized each word by poking a different vertebra. "They. REST."
Shinichi wheezed into the floorboards. "Y'know... most people... use words..."
Rukia's smile could have frozen hell over. "I'm not most people." She stood, dusting off her pajama knees.
She took a step forward, her shadow falling across his face like a death sentence. "If I see you working out again," she said, her voice sweet, yet threatening, "You'll see yourself in a hospital again."
After dropping the chilling threat, Rukia entered the shower, shutting the door with authority.
---
The bathroom door clicked open, releasing a wisp of steam into the hallway. Rukia emerged, her school uniform perfectly pressed, damp bangs clinging to her forehead. She paused, taking in the scene before her with the sharp gaze of a seasoned tactician.
Shinichi sat slumped at the kitchen table, his hospital bracelet spinning lazily on his finger. The morning light caught the plastic band with each rotation, casting tiny reflections across the wall. He didn't look up as she entered.
"Make breakfast." Rukia announced, pulling out a chair with deliberate slowness. The legs scraped against the floorboards with a sound that made Shinichi's shoulders tense.
He finally lifted his head, flashing a cocky grin. "Oh I can't make breakfast," he said, waving the bracelet like a white flag. "You know I just got discharged yesterday and doing such physical work is not good for me and—"
The words died in his throat.
Rukia hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. But something in the air had shifted—the temperature dropping just enough to raise goosebumps on Shinichi's arms. Her violet eyes locked onto his, unblinking. The fingers of her right hand tapped once, twice against the tabletop.
*Tap.*
*Tap.*
A bead of sweat traced Shinichi's temple. Somewhere outside, a crow cawed.
"S-So," he coughed, hastily straightening in his chair, "Pancakes?.."
Like the sun breaking through storm clouds, Rukia's expression transformed. "Pancakes!" she declared, her smile radiant.
Shinichi exhaled hard enough to flutter the discharge papers on the table. 'If I refuse her Pancakes, she might not think even twice before killing me..' He pushed himself up, the chair legs squeaking against the floor.
As he turned toward the stove, Rukia added sweetly, "With blueberries."
Shinichi paused, his shoulders rising and falling with a silent sigh. "Of course," he muttered under his breath. "Antioxidants."
Rukia hummed in approval, already flipping open a magazine as the first pancake hit the pan with a satisfying *sizzle*.
Women are scary.
---
The school gates loomed before them, the morning sunlight glinting off the polished "Karakura High" sign. Shinichi adjusted his uniform collar—still stiff with newness—as Rukia's pristine loafers clicked against the pavement beside him.
His hospital bracelet caught on the strap of his bag. "Tch." He yanked it free, the plastic edge digging into his wrist.
Rukia eyed the motion. "You should remove that."
"And ruin my 'fashion statement'?" Shinichi rolled his eyes but tucked the bracelet under his sleeve.
The hallway stretched before them, smelling of lemon cleaner and the faint metallic tang of locker rooms. Shinichi's fingers hovered over the classroom door handle.
"Just open it," Rukia said, nudging his elbow.
He swallowed. Pushed.
*BOOM!*
Confetti rained down in golden swirls. A party popper's *bang* echoed as the entire class erupted:
"WELCOME BACK, SHINICHI!"
Time seemed to slow.
His shoes scuffed against the floorboards as he stumbled back a step. The noise, the sudden attention—it was all too... bright.
Am I...The thought flickered, am I really important enough for this?
Keigo's arm hooked around his neck like a wrestling move, yanking him forward. "I knew nothing would happen to you!" The citrus-chemical stench of cheap hair gel assaulted Shinichi's nose. "You're MY friend after all!"
Mizuiro materialized on his other side, camera flashing. "Looking healthy, Shinichi."
Chad's silent nod from the back row. Ichigo's trademark scowl (though his arms uncrossed slightly). Tatsuki's playful punch to his shoulder that definitely left a bruise. Orihime's radiant smile that made the fluorescent lights seem dim.
The rest of the class watched—some clapping, others whispering. Shinichi's fingers twitched toward his hospital bracelet, still hidden under his sleeve.
"T-Thank you guys..." The words tasted strange.
The bell rang. The moment shattered like dropped glass. As everyone scattered to seats, Shinichi stared at the confetti clinging to his shoe. His memories of the school life he had in his previous life coming to his mind, the worst memories.
This... this school life. It's nothing like-
"Kisaragi." The teacher's voice cut through. "Welcome back! Good to see you healthy again! Sit Down now, you've got a lot to cover"
---
The bell finally rang to a much awaited lunch break after the boring lectures.
The rice ball halfway to Shinichi's mouth fell as Orihime suddenly struck a pose:
"BOHAHAHA!"
His chair screeched backward. "SHIT! WHAT THE—" The cafeteria went silent. "...Oh. Orihime." He righted his chair with flaming ears. "Uh... sorry."
Keigo gasped like he'd witnessed a miracle. "Orihime! You're a Don Kanonji fan?!"
She nodded, cheeks pink. "Tatsuki and I are going to his show tonight!"
"No way!" Keigo body-slammed Mizuiro. "We're going too! Ichigo! Shinichi! You're coming!"
Their synchronized rejection cracked through the courtyard: "HELL NO!"
Shinichi slumped. 'This almost-filler arc was boring in the anime too... I'd much rather sleep in my house..'
Then—
A shadow fell across the table. Rukia's voice dripped honey, "Hello, Inoue-san! How are you?"
Orihime brightened. "Oh! Kuchiki-san! Perfect timing! I wanted to ask you whether you wanted to come with us to the Kanonji show tonight!"
Rukia smiled "Oh! I would love to! Thankyou so much!" then dropped the bomb. "Shinichi is coming with us."
His chopsticks snapped. "SINCE WHEN!?"
Rukia's face collapsed. A single, shimmering 'tear' traced her cheek. "I-I thought... after the hospital... spending time with us would make you feel better..." Her shoulders shook. "I just wanted to help... I'm so sorry..."
THWACK! Tatsuki's palm connected with his skull. "YOU MADE HER CRY, JACKASS!"
Orihime's lips trembled. "That was so mean, Kisaragi-kun..."
Keigo fake-sobbed into his hands. "HOW COULD YOUUUU!" He shook Shinichi like a ragdoll. "KUCHIKI-SAN'S TOO PURE FOR THIS WORLD!"
The entire courtyard stared. Shinichi's mouth opened—
"ENOUGH." Tatsuki's fist slammed the table. "You're coming with us. No arguments."
Shinichi's eyes darted to Rukia—just in time to catch her smirk and wink before she resumed her 'devastated' act.
'...Acting classes in the Soul Society? Since when?!'
---
It was finally night time, and also the time for the Don Kanonji Show to begin.
Karakura Park buzzed with the chaotic energy of a carnival. Paper lanterns swung overhead, casting flickering shadows across the crowd of Don Kanonji fans—each wearing the signature purple headband and practicing their "BOHAHA!" laughs. Shinichi stood stiffly at the back of the group, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
'Why am I here again?'
On stage, a spotlight exploded to life.
"SPIRITS... ARE ALWAYS... WITH YOU! BOHAHAHA!"
The crowd roared back, hundreds of voices shouting in unison: "BOHAHA!"
Shinichi's eye twitched.
Next to him, Rukia bounced on her toes, her eyes glittering with performative excitement. "Isn't this thrilling?" she whispered—a little too loudly.
Shinichi leaned in. "You're enjoying this way too much for a Soul Rea—"
CRACK!
A sound like shattering glass cut through the noise. The 'haunted' building's windows exploded outward as a swirling mass of darkness erupted from within. The spirit's chain as in the anime, snapped, its face twisting, body bloating—
Hollow transformation.
Rukia's playful demeanor vanished. "Ichigo!"
Ichigo was already moving. "Yeah, make me a—"
"HEY! NO TRESPASSING!" Security guards plowed through the crowd, tackling Ichigo mid-sentence.
Rukia lunged after him. "Wait, you don't underst—"
*THUD!* Another guard grabbed her arm, yanking her back. The cameras for the live broadcast swiveled, capturing every second of the struggle.
Shinichi, still at the edge of the crowd, sighed. This is exactly why I didn't want to come.
Then—
*THWACK!*
A familiar striped hat flashed in the corner of Shinichi's vision. Urahara's cane connected with Ichigo's skull, sending his soul flying from his body in a burst of blue light. The guards staggered back, staring at Ichigo's collapsed physical form.
Rukia broke free, gaping. "Urahara?!"
The shopkeeper tipped his hat. "Just a humble merchant enjoying the show!"
Shinichi, still lurking at the crowd's edge, muttered, "Bullshit."
Urahara's head turned slowly. His eyes locked onto Shinichi's through the chaos.
"Ah! Kisaragi-san!" He waved, cheerful as a death knell. "I actually wanted to talk to you!"
Shinichi's stomach dropped.
Urahara closed the distance between them, his geta sandals crunching over broken popcorn. The Hollow's screams and Don Kanonji's frantic commentary faded into white noise.
"What is it, candy man?" Shinichi crossed his arms.
Urahara's smile didn't waver. "I heard you were in a coma, Kisaragi-san. It's very nice to see you all healthy again!"
Shinichi narrowed his eyes. "Is that all? Thanks, I guess."
A beat. The lantern light flickered.
Urahara's hat tilted forward, shadows swallowing his face. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all playfulness.
"There was something... off about you from the start." His fan snapped shut. "A very dark, corrupt energy. Barely a speck at first, but now..." He lifted his head just enough for one golden eye to gleam. "It's grown hungry."
Shinichi's breath hitched. The sounds of battle—Ichigo's zanpakuto clashing, the Hollow's shrieks—seemed miles away.
"What are you talking about?" His voice came out thinner than he intended. "What energy?"
Urahara straightened, his usual smile sliding back into place like a mask. "Oh, just shopkeeper's intuition!" He turned to leave, then paused.
"But tell me, Kisaragi-san..."
The Hollow's dying scream pierced the night.
"Are you human?"