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The first time Ichigo steps into the Soul Society, he's twenty years old and weighed down in layers of ceremonial fabric. His weapons rest against his waist in scabbards and cases, and Ichigo itches to shift their positions so that he can actually reach them. There’s nothing comfortable about this—but at least the city is beautiful, so completely foreign to him. Despite his mother and father’s best efforts, Ichigo’s always thought of himself as human first, Shinigami and Quincy second.
He won't admit it to anyone, but the entire thing had seemed so far away when he was down in the human world. He has known for years about the Quincy-Shinigami war, which ended in uneasy peace talks that took a full decade to resolve. It’s never mattered much to him. To his parents, sure, two high profile generals who’d fallen in love despite being on opposite sides, but what were matters of the spirit when there are matters of school and university admissions and making sure his sisters are well while his parents play politics?
I should’ve paid more attention to those politics, Ichigo thinks, forcing his face into an approximation of a smile when he’s greeted as Prince Kurosaki.
The Kurosakis are signs of a united world, one where Shinigami and Quincy can walk side by side, hand in hand, heart in heart. His sisters are already princesses in his mind. It’s fitting for them to be princesses in truth, though perhaps not to be so deeply wrapped up in the new politics of the Soul Society. Ichigo’s more content standing behind them as their shield, but his mother’s hand is on his shoulder, pushing him forward, and he walks.
Prince Kurosaki, of all fucking things.
*
Someone tries to kill him that first night. An assassin, all in black, no bow or zanpakuto on him. Only regular blades. Ichigo rolls the body over and peeks at the face, sparing a moment to see whether the man is a Shinigami or a Quincy. He can’t tell. It only matters because he won’t be the first, and Ichigo would rather be prepared. Not everyone is content with peace.
His sisters’ rooms are quiet. Ichigo ghosts through them, checking for signs of an intruder. There aren’t any. It could be that they sent only one. Energy-sensing is one of his worst skills, especially when he’s tamping down on his own so hard, secrets within secrets. He can’t sense anyone else. His sisters are alive and asleep; his father is the same way.
His mom is awake when he walks downstairs, sipping tea in quiet thought.
There is a body at her feet.
“You weren’t worried about me?” Ichigo asks, almost appalled. The walls are soundproof, but he barely speaks above a whisper. Something about nearly being murdered has set him on edge.
“I knew you could take care of yourself,” Masaki replies. She gestures for Ichigo to lean down, presses a kiss against his forehead. “By the time I was finished, you were, too.”
Mollified, Ichigo sits down next to her. “I hadn’t expected assassins.”
Masaki nods, her mouth tight. “I was promised that it was safe. We both were. I wouldn’t have allowed you three anywhere near hear had I known there was a faction that would resist the peace so desperately.”
“I’ll be fine,” Ichigo promises. He always is. It’s not himself he worries about. “Do you want to send the girls back?”
“I’m not sure I trust them in the human world without us.”
“They do get into a lot of trouble,” Ichigo says. That’s not what his mother’s worried about, but his words bring a faint smile to her lips. “They learned from the best.”
“You were never trouble.”
“I meant Tatsuki.”
Ichigo doesn’t go back to sleep. Can’t, won’t, not when his blood is still alight and his mother is alone. They sit and they plan, and they may dream of a world where both sides live without conflict, but they’re realists. Ichigo has always been his mother’s son.
*
Ichigo walks for hours around the city, familiarizing himself with the place that will be his home for the foreseeable future, unless the peace treaty burns up in flames. He doesn’t linger in the Quincy headquarters, nor does he storm the Second Division. Ryūken and Kaien manage affairs that his parents cannot be seen doing. Ichigo is here to be met and greeted and noticed. Underestimated, too.
The second time someone tries to kill him, it’s with more fanfare.
A burst of fiery Kido nearly burns through him. Ichigo has about two seconds during which he realizes three things: he has to duck immediately, Soul Society isn’t going to withstand his mother’s wrath if they keep this up, and the man chasing behind the blast may be the most attractive man he's ever seen. Soul Society is full of pretty people, Ichigo can't deny that, but there's something about the way that the man is carefully poking through the ashes and fiddling with the device that causes his anger to fade. Accident, not assassination. He’d avoided it just in time, his clothing only somewhat singed in the process.
"Hm," the man says, poking at the explosion. "I should have used less reiatsu powder." No overly cautious apologies, no groveling, no actual murder. "Hasn't anyone warned you off from the Twelfth compound, Prince Kurosaki?"
"Lots of people," Ichigo replies. He’s studied the captains, and if this is the Twelfth, then he’s speaking to, “Captain Urahara.”
“The one and only,” the man says, standing up again and looking at him with keen intelligence. “Can I help you?”
Captain Urahara, formerly of the Second Division. A brilliant man by all accounts, if not quite trustworthy. Ichigo’s father considers the man a friend, while his mother doesn’t. And Ichigo, well. Ichigo’s a little bit fascinated.
“What’s reiatsu powder?” Ichigo asks, and steps further into the Twelfth Division.
Urahara allows him passage, a glint of interest in his eyes.
Ichigo has to wonder if it’s for his blood or his title, or if there’s a chance that it’s there just for him. Time will tell.