Chapter Text
“Because of the Shinigami powers I suddenly obtained, my world turned upside down. Substitute Shinigami, Kurosaki Ichigo. To protect my friends, I will let my feelings explode and unleash the blade of my soul!”
Ichigo stared at the notebook.
Terrible.
It sounded like he was trying to sell an action figure of himself.
He scratched everything out aggressively.
Tried again.
“Once upon a time, there was a normal boy who could see ghosts…”
He grimaced.
“Lie… I was never normal,” he thought.
He sighed and let the pen drop onto the desk.
— Damn…
Did he really have to turn this in? Why couldn’t it be something simple and objective, like “Discuss how drugs negatively affect today’s youth”? Normal topics. Of course the teacher had to assign a creative writing piece due Friday.
— “Creative”, he’d said. “Let your imagination run free!”.
Ichigo pressed his forehead against the desk.
“My imagination almost died three times last week…”
His room looked exactly the same as he’d left it: uniform tossed over the chair, backpack abandoned near the bed, the window slightly open, letting in the distant hum of the street. Everything normal. Ridiculously normal.
And yet, nothing felt normal.
He spun the pen between his fingers.
“If I write the truth, they’ll send me to the school counselor. If I make it up, it’ll sound fake. If I don’t turn anything in… I’ll get a zero.”
— Tch…
He picked up the notebook again.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy who thought he could protect everyone…”
He stopped.
That… wasn’t bad.
But it wasn’t the whole truth either.
He stared at his own handwriting until the image of a staircase too white, a sky too still, and a smile too calm crossed his mind.
Rukia.
He closed his eyes for a second.
She stayed. The execution was stopped. The conflict was over. So why did it feel like something was still hanging in the air?
He glanced at the window.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t there anymore. Or because the room was too quiet. Or maybe because, for the first time since she crashed through his window and turned his life upside down, he was alone again.
He ran a hand through his hair, annoyed at himself.
— Don’t start…
He wasn’t the sentimental type. Definitely not. But absence had weight.
He went back to the notebook.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy who received a sword…”
He tilted his head.
“Better…”.
“He thought it was just a sword.”
A faint crooked smile tugged at his mouth. It wasn’t. It never was.
He exhaled and began writing more firmly. It didn’t have to sound epic. It just had to be honest.
A knock at the door made him look up.
— Ichi-nii! — Karin called from the hallway — Are you coming to dinner or marrying your notebook?
— Coming!
He shut the notebook a little too fast, like he was hiding a secret, and stared at the cover for a moment. Maybe this assignment wasn’t just about a grade. Maybe it was about organizing the chaos his life had become.
He stood up and, before leaving, glanced once more at the window.
—…You’d laugh at this, wouldn’t you?
A light breeze slipped inside, stirring the curtain.
He scoffed.
— Tch. Idiot.
Ichigo walked downstairs like a man heading to his own trial. Not because he feared dinner—but because he feared thinking.
The smell of food filled the hallway. Normal. Home. Family. No insane spiritual swordsmen. No masked monsters. No public executions. No god-complex megalomaniacs. Just normal.
Too normal.
— Is that face for the food or for life? — Karin asked without looking up from her plate.
— Shut up.
Yuzu appeared from the kitchen with the kind of smile that made everything seem less complicated.
— Onii-chan, are you feeling better? Does it still hurt?
He shrugged. Physical pain? Barely. Mental pain? Buy two, get one free. He sat down. Isshin burst in like usual.
— ICHIGOOOO! — and launched a completely unnecessary flying kick.
Ichigo dodged on instinct.
— YOU CAN’T ATTACK SOMEONE WHILE HE’S THINKING, YOU—LUNATIC!
Isshin collapsed dramatically.
— He’s grown… My son has grown… Dodging paternal attacks with such ease…
Karin sighed.
— Is theatrical drama genetic?
Ichigo looked back at his plate. Rice. Food. Normality. So why did it feel like something was missing?
…
Because it was.
He told Rukia he was happy she chose to stay in Soul Society. He looked her in the eyes and smiled when he said it. He said it like someone mature. Responsible. Detached. And completely lying. Not that he wanted her to give everything up for him. But part of him—a small, annoyingly loud part—wanted her to choose to stay.
Not in Soul Society. Here. In the closet. With that irritated expression of someone who still had a lot to teach the world’s worst student. He tightened his grip on his chopsticks.
— You’re going to pulverize the rice, genius — Karin commented.
He loosened his grip and breathed.
Maybe it was just habit. She had appeared out of nowhere and flipped his world upside down. His brain was still trying to process the silence. Or maybe… he didn’t like the feeling of being left behind.
No. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t clingy. He just—
— You’re chewing nothing, Onii-chan… — Yuzu pointed out.
Ichigo blinked at his plate. Right. Great.
And then, as if the universe officially declared it Kurosaki Existential Crisis Night™, another thought arrived: Urahara Kisuke. The wooden-sandal-wearing candy-store guy with the fan—and the man who created the Hōgyoku.
Ichigo swallowed without tasting anything.
If he trusted Urahara—and he did—why didn’t Urahara trust him? Why hide that? Why let him chase Aizen without knowing the central piece of the board? “To protect you”, of course. Every adult with a secret says that. But Ichigo had fought captains. Stopped an execution. Survived Aizen. So where was the line? When did he stop being “the kid who needs protection” and start being “the one who deserves the truth”? He hated that feeling. Not being deceived. Being deemed insufficient.
He put down his chopsticks.
— Already done? — Karin asked.
— I’m full.
— You ate three grains of rice.
— Efficient metabolism.
Isshin stood dramatically.
— SON! Are you… heartbroken?!
Ichigo shot up so fast his chair nearly toppled.
— I AM NOT HEARTBROKEN!
Silence.
Yuzu blinked. Karin raised an eyebrow. Isshin wore the dangerous smile of a man who accidentally hit the target.
“Damn…”.
— I’m finishing my assignment — Ichigo muttered, heading upstairs.
— What assignment? — Karin called.
— The creative one.
— That explains everything — she muttered.
Back in his room, he opened the notebook again.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy who thought he knew what it meant to protect someone.
Until he learned that sometimes protecting means letting go.
And sometimes it means asking why you weren’t considered strong enough to know the truth.”
He stared at the words.
They weren’t heroic. They weren’t epic. But they were real. For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like crossing everything out.
They didn’t finish themselves.
— Hmmmmmm…
Ichigo froze.
Slowly.
With the dignity of someone who had fought masked monsters and spiritual swordsmen.
He turned his head.
Kon was hanging over his shoulder, plastic eyes sparkling.
— That’s deep, Ichigo! Kind of sad. Kind of moving. I almost felt something in here! — He squeezed his plush chest. — Like… feelings!
Ichigo screamed.
— AAAH! YOU POSSESSED STUFFED ABOMINATION!
The chair crashed. Kon hit the wall.
— Waaah! Are you trying to kill me, Ichigooo?!
— I ALMOST LEFT MY BODY, YOU IDIOT!
— Drama! I was complimenting you!
Ichigo grabbed him by the leg and shook him.
— You can’t just appear out of nowhere!!
— When can I appear, then?! You left me here for days like an old flip-flop!
Ichigo dropped him, breathing hard.
— Disappear.
— You’re grumpy because you’re writing about Nee-san, aren’t you~?
Ichigo stiffened.
— I’m not writing about her!
— Oh really? ‘Protecting means letting go’… How romantic, Ichigooo~…
Kon sailed out the window.
Ichigo slammed the curtains shut.
Silence.
He sat back down.
“Maybe the hero of the story wasn’t such a hero after all—”
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—”
The sound exploded through the room.
Ichigo nearly hit the ceiling.
— WHAT NOW?!
The Substitute Shinigami badge on the desk was vibrating.
And screaming.
Not a beep. Not a buzz. A horrifying blend of a tortured crow and a fire alarm announcing the apocalypse.
“EEEE-RAAAK-EEEE—”
Ichigo stared at it.
— No. No. Don’t start…
It got louder. The window trembled. Kon reappeared dramatically.
— Ichigo! What’s happening?!
— How should I know?! No one told me I own a screaming badge now!
He grabbed it.
It vibrated violently.
And then he felt it.
That pressure.
Heavy.
Torn.
Wrong.
— Hollow… — he murmured.
More than one. Kon’s toy eyes widened. But Ichigo was already pressing the badge, his human body collapsing onto the bed.
— The assignment…
He glanced at the notebook. Then at the hysterical badge. Then at the window. He sighed.
— …is not getting finished anytime soon
“EEEERAAAAK—”
— I GET IT!
He leaped through the window, Zangetsu resting against his back.
Kon remained behind, staring longingly at the vacant human body.
The wind drifted into the room.
The notebook stayed open on the desk.
The last unfinished line:
“Maybe the hero wasn’t done fighting yet.”
Outside, the night inhaled. And Kurosaki Ichigo would have no rest.
Not literary.
Not spiritual.