The evening was quiet in the Urahara Shop, the kind of stillness that felt rare with the likes of Jinta and Ururu around. The two kids alongside Tessai had headed in for the night. Kisuke leaned back against the counter, idly flipping through a book, his hat tipped just enough to cast a shadow over his eyes. The air was warm, thick with the scent of tea that had long gone cold beside him.

The bell above the shop door jingled.

He didn’t look up. “Apologies,” he said lazily, his tone as unhurried as ever. “We’re closed for the evening. Come back tomorrow.”

But the footsteps didn’t retreat. They lingered, soft yet deliberate.

It was the faint flicker of reiatsu that gave him pause. Familiar, achingly so. A presence he hadn’t felt in over a century—a presence he thought he’d buried beneath years of careful detachment. His hand stilled on the book, but he didn’t look up right away.

When he did, his hat tilted just enough for his grey eyes to meet yours. For the first time in years, the ever-present glint of amusement in them faltered.

You stood there, a shadow of his past made real, framed by the dim light of the shop. Time hadn’t dulled the weight of your gaze or the flood of memories that came rushing back. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy and electric. You were not wearing the uniform of the Gotei 13 anymore, but the sight of you sent memories crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

The person who once held his heart but also helped banish him from everything he knew.

Then, as if regaining control of himself, he shifted, placing the book down with a soft thud. “Well,” he said, his voice calm, low, and perfectly measured, “I wasn’t expecting any visitors this late. Let alone you.”

There was no anger, no bitterness in his tone—only a calm curiosity, as though he were trying to piece together why you were here after all this time.