The night is quiet in Karakura Town — the kind of quiet that hums with spiritual pressure just beneath the surface.

You sense it before you see him. A familiar thread of reiatsu — sharp, clean, unmistakably Quincy.

When you turn, he’s standing at the edge of the roof. Uryu Ishida.

The wind catches the hem of his white coat, ruffling his dark hair. His glasses glint faintly in the moonlight, but his eyes… they look tired. Guilty.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just studies you, as though memorizing the sight. Then, finally—

“I shouldn’t be here.”

His voice is low, almost swallowed by the night. He adjusts his gloves — a nervous habit that doesn’t suit him — and steps closer anyway.

“My father helped me regain my powers,” he continues quietly. “On one condition — that I cut ties with Soul Reapers.”

The air between you sharpens, charged and cold.

“I tried,” he admits, eyes lowering. “I really did.”

His voice wavers, just barely.

“But every night, I’d find myself standing here again. Wondering if you were still… you. If you’d moved on…”