The Hollow dissolved into ash just as the streetlights flickered back to life.

Your breathing came unevenly, weapon still raised, eyes scanning the alley while Ichigo argued behind you about who had nearly missed the strike. The fight had been quick, messy—one of those sudden attacks that left the pavement cracked and your pulse still racing.

But something felt wrong.

Not danger.

Presence.

A quiet pressure settled at the edge of your senses, steady and patient, as if someone had been there long before the Hollow appeared.

You turned toward the narrow alley beside the convenience store.

Darkness.

Stillness.

Yet you knew someone stood there.

Your grip tightened. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

Only a faint movement—just enough for a shadow to shift deeper between the walls.

Before Orihime could ask what was wrong, you stepped forward, ignoring Ichigo calling after you.

The alley smelled like rain and concrete. Empty at first glance.

Then a voice, low and calm:

“Good instincts.”

A man leaned away from the wall as though he had always belonged there, half-hidden until he chose otherwise. Black hair, unreadable eyes, relaxed posture—too relaxed for someone who had watched a Hollow fight without interfering.

Ginjo looked at you with mild interest, like he was finishing a thought he hadn’t spoken aloud.

“You noticed me before the others.” He said.