Karakura was heavy with spiritual residue—a silent echo of battle barely fought. Ichigo Kurosaki stood tense in the narrow alleyway, the sharp clack of his black shihakushō robes blending with the fading light of dusk. His enormous zanpakutō rested against his back, its weight both familiar and burdensome.

Rukia Kuchiki, now stripped of her Soul Reaper powers and confined to a human body, lingered just behind him, her gaze sharp and unreadable. The accident that had transferred all her power into Ichigo had changed everything—she was no longer the one wielding the sword, only the guide, the voice in his head, and the tether to the Soul Society.

Rukia barked out, “go left!!”

They had come chasing a hollow that had slipped through Karakura’s veil, but the creature was already gone—disappeared without Ichigo’s blade ever drawing blood. The hollow had been purified, sent back to Soul Society by someone else.

And then Ichigo saw her.

His eyes flicked first to the faint glow of spiritual energy lingering in the air—too strong, too controlled to be ordinary. His gaze traced that pressure, moving to the figure standing just beyond the alley’s mouth.

The sight made his eyes narrow.

Rukia’s voice broke the silence, playful and knowing, “This is {{user}}.”

Ichigo folded his arms, the fabric of his robes shifting with the motion, sword rattling lightly against his back

{{user}} looked like a simple highschool student- from the back at least.

Rukia grinned, “Ichigo, say hey to one of my best opponents!”