Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Princess of Death ❯ The Lost Soul PART 1 ( Chapter 7 )

Date written: 05/05/09 - 10/05/09

Posted on FanFiction: 15/05/09

Posted on MediaMiner: 22/08/09

A/N: I finally got back into the swing of things. Well, time for Kon to make his appearance. And also clarify a few things from the previous chapters. The plot is thickening already and I'm having a slightly hard time in keeping things as they should go. One small word might cause inconsistency in the plot. Yeah, that's how deep I'm going, but most of those plot-related contents won't be making an appearance until during and after the Soul Society arc. Oh boy, this'll be quite a ride. Ready for some unexpectedness?

During the times I've read fanfics with changes in Kon's appearance, some of them form a pattern that almost seemed predictable. If someone were to create a Mary Sue-ish story and started to reenact this portion of the series, I would probably guess what they're about to do with Kon's situation: He won't be the only mod soul of the series, as in the Mary Sue or OC of the story will suddenly have a mod soul of their own and will then be named `Kai' or something. For me, I find that a little . . . unbelievable and disheartening. But I can't actually sign my name out of that category as well, since I had thought about it too. But in the end, I found it too much of a hassle to add a very minor OC in this story just for the purpose of the Mod Soul sub-arc.

--- CHAPTER 7 ---

The Lost Soul

PART 1

Rukia didn't have much time before she had to go begrudgingly to school, so she had to wrap things up with her business with the Urahara Shop as quick as she possibly can. There were no reasons to rush her efforts except to limit the suspicions her substitute, Ichigo Kurosaki, might have. Some peculiar things had occurred after her powers had been sucked out of her soul from that power-hungry (at least, to a part of her mind's opinion of him) teenager. And that may be an understatement. Apart from meeting a rare kind of human who can see ghosts, the century-and-a-half-old shinigami had seen another human possessing shinigami powers. To top it off, she had also bore witness to a creature that none in Soul Society had ever seen before. Rukia was very thorough in reading the books the Shinigami Academy had recommended to the student body when she was still studying there, and none of those ancient-looking texts described the monster she had seen yesterday. It had been a Hollow—she was certain of that—but there was more of it than at first glance . . . or the tingling feeling of dread she had felt when it was slowly nearing her.

Arriving shortly at the little rundown shop of Kisuke Urahara, Rukia's thoughts bolted towards her opinion of the laid-back man. He was the one who had given her the gigai, along with the soul-ejecting glove (Skull Glove, she nicknamed it), the night she had been injured and left powerless. But she was already having second thoughts whether it was a mere coincidence that Urahara was there when she needed things that were unavailable to her until she could get a direct contact with Soul Society, which was quite impossible due to her stripped shinigami powers that were needed for the bridge in the connection between the Human World and Soul Society, or not. He was definitely a sly bastard, and if she was hoping in getting any answers from him she would have to be as sly as him in conversation.

Rukia saw Jinta bullying Ururu again, pulling on her two ponytails after she remarked on him not getting any of their chores done by playing solo-baseball all day. Rukia sighed. “All right, Shorty,” she said, “break it up!”

Jinta looked at her, his hands still grabbing Ururu's ponytails. “You again? What do you want this time?”

She did not like the attitude that little kid was showing her, and would've yelled at him to show her some respect but she really needed to speak to Urahara. “Just open the door,” she said to him, and then added, “Is your manager awake?”

Jinta scoffed and went to slide open the door to the shop. He didn't answer her question.

“Yes, he is,” Ururu said to Rukia, while rubbing her sore scalp. It was a small wonder that none of her hair had fallen off from the pulling. “He was experimenting with some small device he purchased from the mall yesterday.”

Rukia nodded and entered the shop. Inside, she saw Tessai inventorying the shelf stocks. He would observe the shelves, counting the amount of supply mentally, then start writing some things down on his clipboard. Normally it was the manager's job to do the inventory work but Rukia guessed that Urahara might be extra busy with that small device Ururu mentioned that left Tessai to do the work instead. It was either that or Urahara might be his slacking self as usual.

Rukia betted her money on the latter.

“Excuse me,” Rukia started.

Tessai looked away from the shelves and observed Rukia's direction. “Ah! Kuchiki-dono. If you're looking for the manager, he's at the back, working.”

Rukia nodded to him with a quick thank you, and made her way towards the back rooms of the small establishment, slightly wondering if all vendors have this sixth sense that assesses if a customer wants to buy something in their shop or had something else in mind.

The shop was relatively small and compact, a fitting space for a person to sell merchandises that were both legal and `questionably legal.' More than once did Urahara try to offer her items that have stemmed from the Soul Society black market, and she refused those offers every time. The items themselves looked useful and efficient when dealing with Hollow attacks, but they were known as questionably legal for a reason and that was enough for her to not buy any of them, even if it was at such a low, low price to boot. Urahara had respected her wishes and didn't offer any of those black market items again.

She entered what looked like the living and dining room. There was a square wooden table at the center of the room, with four purple zabuton (Sitting pillow) situated on each of the table's side. The rest was just bare space. Rukia hadn't been inside this room before, but she would admit that the lack of furniture other than the table was a nice touch. It was almost as if Urahara designed this room to accommodate a lot of guests.

Speaking of Urahara, she saw him sitting on one of the zabuton, eyes closed, concentrating on his work and didn't notice his new guest's entrance. He had two white wires going to his ears while humming some tune that was a little catchy. In his hand was a small square-shaped object that was also white with a smaller square and a circle on one side of it. Rukia first thought that it was a new kind of cell phone the humans must've invented, and the difference must be the two white wires connected to the bottom of it, giving Urahara some kind of pleasant feeling because he was smiling more than usual and nodding his head over and over.

Tessai said that Urahara was working; Ururu said that he was experimenting on a device he bought yesterday, which must be the white object he was holding like a cell phone. But Rukia wasn't seeing any kind of `work.' It looked more like the manager was enjoying himself with this new object of his. He was slacking as usual. The next thing Rukia knew, Urahara was actually singing something.

“Ima demo!

To My Friends, Senaka no hane wa nakushita keredo

Mada fushigi na chikara nokotte 'ru

To My Friends, Hikari wo daite yume wo miyou yo

Hora! Kimi no hitomi ni niji ga kakaru.”

“Urahara,” Rukia said.

He wasn't listening. He just kept humming.

“Urahara!” Rukia said again with more decibels than the last.

Urahara jumped from his zabuton and almost dropped the device he was holding. When he saw her, he removed the ends of the wires from his ears and greeted her with that laid-back smile of his. “Ah! Kuchiki-san, I did not see you there.” He arranged himself as he took his fan from the table in front of him and started fanning himself. “What can I do for you today?”

Rukia wanted to get to business immediately but her curiosity got the better of her. The object Urahara was holding intrigued her a little. “What is that?” She pointed at the square item in his hand.

“Oh, this.” Urahara held up the object. “It's called an iPod. I bought it from the downtown mall. It was on sale, too! Twenty-five percent discounts are quite rare for gadgets as popular as this around here in Karakura.”

Rukia tried to picture Urahara going to a gadget shop in a crowded mall wearing nothing but that old-fashioned clothing that almost made him look like a drifter; his green- and white-striped hat shadowing his features while the sly smile adorned his lips just emphasized that appearance. He would go up to the store clerk, who was a brunette female with long and wavy hair, and ask if there were any items he could afford. The woman clerk would show him the things they have in the store, and when Urahara made his purchase he'd smile that laid-back smile, only to her it would look like a leer due to the shadow of his hat; the next thing Urahara would know was that the clerk shivered in fear and then called for security, saying that a bad drifter man was harassing her. Hmm . . . probably too exaggerated but it was a little entertaining to think about. She then wondered if the guy actually caused some trouble over at downtown.

“You see, Kuchiki-san,” Urahara continued, showing off his precious iPod like a six-year-old showing to his friends a new toy his parents bought him. “This gadget lets you listen to music with the earphones you place in each of your ear. I had been listening to some of the songs I asked the clerk to upload into my iPod. They're very catchy, you know.”

“I'm not here to listen to you gloat about your toy all day, Urahara,” Rukia said with obvious annoyance etched in her tone. “I'm here because of more pressing matters.”

“What would that be, I wonder?”

“You sensed it, too, didn't you? Yesterday, southwest of the Hiraku district.”

There was no change in expression on the shopkeeper's face except for the questionable look he was giving the shinigami. “Whatever do you mean, Kuchiki-san? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can be of much help if you don't tell me straight out what it is you're asking me of.”

“I'm talking about the Hollow that exited the Gates of Hell. I know you know something about that, Urahara.”

“I do not know what you're talking about. But I am curious over this Hollow that you speak of.” He closed his fan, his face solemn. “I've never heard of a Hollow exiting Hell before.”

Rukia wasn't buying his straight face and the way how he handled himself by trying to be completely oblivious of the whole thing. The Hiraku district, where that shadow-like Hollow came out of the Gates, was close to downtown. And if Urahara had been at one of the downtown malls yesterday, then he would've no doubt sensed that tainted presence without much difficulty. To see him act around as if he knew nothing of it really pissed her off. And if it wasn't for the emotion-masking ability she had learned after being adopted by the noble Kuchiki clan, she might've snapped at him for taking this situation so lightly as if he didn't care about this at all.

She neared the shopkeeper and grabbed both of his shoulders, her eyes as stern and dangerous as a tiger's. “Do not play games with me, Urahara. I know you know.”

“And you won't stop harassing me until you get some answers, am I right?”

“That's better. Now start talking.”

Urahara cleared his throat, set down his fan back onto the table, and waited for Rukia to release her hold on his shoulders. She received his nonverbal message to let go and complied. When she sat down on the zabuton, he began. “I only know little about this strange phenomenon, Kuchiki-san, since I've only learned of it yesterday. Still, that was enough for me to do some mild research over that creature's appearance . . . while having some time with my new iPod, of course! Anyway, that creature was definitely a Hollow.”

“But how so? I've never encountered such a Hollow before. It almost felt like an evil soul that had escaped its prison in Hell.”

“That thought crossed my mind, too, actually. But the possibility of a prisoner of Hell escaping its clutches right under their noses is nullified by the fact that no one—and I mean no one—can escape Hell once you've been sentenced to it. Just as much as ordinary souls cannot exit Soul Society unless it was time for their turn in the cycle of rebirth or they become official shinigami.”

“So this could be a new species of Hollow we are not aware of?” Rukia was all-ears for Urahara's answer. But she was in for a surprise when the shopkeeper shook his head negatively. “Then what in the world was that creature?”

“There's more to it than that. It was theorized, but never really proven or tested due to the risks involved . . . until now, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

What Rukia saw in Urahara's face was an expression of utmost solemnity and graveness. The older man looked like he had faced something far worse than the demons that watch over the punishments in Hell. His eyes portrayed an almost broken man that experienced something in his life that he either condemned himself to live it over and over within his mentality or became afraid to face that part of his inner demons. She had known a lot of shinigami who had breakdowns due to stress, anxiety, and also traumatic events. The image Urahara was showing to the young shinigami exceeded the horrible things her fellow shinigami had exhibited. It almost seemed like he was dying inside just recalling about it. Just what do these creatures mean to him?

“Kuchiki-san, you know of my crimes in Soul Society, correct?”

“Very vaguely,” she answered, and she was telling the truth. She consulted a few books over the incident that shredded the ranks of some of the Divisions of the Gotei 13. Eight shinigami had been pronounced missing, and no such luck in tracing them—or even their corpses—from the search parties. “The reports they have over the incident a hundred years ago had lots of holes, so I kept an open mind when first meeting you.”

“And business boomed when you became one of our frequent customers,” he commented. “But what if I told you that I did what I did to help out an old friend? What would your opinion of me be, then?”

“Who is this `old friend'?”

“That would be an invasion of his privacy if I told you that.”

Rukia wanted to retort that Urahara's old friend was a `he,' but she thought better of it. If she were to say that, then Urahara would then be on-guard in what he will say next. It was best to keep his tongue as loose as it is lest she won't be getting any more valuable info from him without force. And she tended to avoid that at all costs.

“But surely you'd tell me something about this friend of yours,” she said. “How can I judge you if I don't even know what kind of friend you have? You are dealing in shady businesses, after all.”

Urahara laughed. “You know me well, Kuchiki-san,” he said, “but you know nothing of my past. I won't tell you anything about him—even his name—except that he had been a member of the Zero Division.”

“The Zero Division?” What is he talking about? There are only thirteen divisions of the Gotei 13.

“Only captains know of this secretive Division, Kuchiki-san, so I'm not surprised you are unaware of their existence. They are, in fact, former captains who were promoted into that Division. They no longer answer to the authority of Soul Society; not even Chamber 46 has jurisdiction over what they do. The only person they answer to is the Spirit King. In other words, they are the Spirit King's own personal bodyguards.”

Rukia widened her eyes. “The Spirit King?” she repeated. And when the information finally sank into her head, she realized something. “You said your friend had been a member of the Zero Division. What happened to him?”

“He was chosen and promoted to the Zero Division due to his . . . uh, unique condition; few know of it, as well. It wasn't until he had been promoted that Yamamoto-taicho and Chamber 46 learned of his condition. If they had known beforehand, my friend would've been executed as it was a forbidden act to possess such abilities in Soul Society. I guess he had been lucky at the time when the Spirit King took interest in him. I've befriended him even before I'd been a member of the 2nd Division. But I digress. The truth is I never really knew what happened to him. After I was exiled, I only saw him again once, which was eighteen years ago, asking a favor from me. And that was a haste reunion; he looked like he was in a real hurry, so I quickly obliged to his little request. The only thing he told me for certain is that he's being hunted down by the Zero Division; never told me why, but I suspected it had something to do with his condition. I never heard from him since.”

Rukia nodded. “You still haven't explained about the Hollow.”

“Ah, yes. Almost forgot about that.”

Liar, she thought. You were trying to change the subject, so you wouldn't need to answer my earlier questions. Don't think I don't know how sly you are in changing the topics, Urahara. You're not getting away from me until I have some answers.

Urahara cleared his throat. “Because this was only theorized before, I never really took time in researching more from it. The consequences were too much for me to do so. But I guess someone else was brave enough to risk everything in their research.”

“Research? Research of what?”

“Of Hollow manipulation,” Urahara said gravely. “What you've seen may have been the product of an experiment gone awry in Hollow manipulation. My resources are scarce concerning this, so I can only give you some small bit of information about a similar project conducted by an independent group in Soul Society a thousand years ago.”

“What was the purpose of this project?”

“People back then were primitive, and science hadn't always been the answer to them. And at the same time, the laws weren't completely absolute, so there were plenty of hoodlums and lawbenders—not breakers—running around Soul Society. One such group of lawbenders conducted a little project about Hollows. They had been confident that their experiments would revolutionize the way shinigami could take care of the `Hollow pest problem' as they put it. To do so, they captured live specimens of Hollow into their labs and manipulated its soul's genetic makeup, learning how they came to be, how their bodies work, et cetera. Their enthusiasm over their project caused mass hysteria, however, when one of their specimens got loose in Rukongai. The project was abandoned, the captured Hollows slain, and everyone involved had been arrested and executed not long after.”

“And this creature that I've seen yesterday was a Hollow that had been experimented on just recently?”

“That may be. But it could also be one of the other experimented Hollows a millennium ago. The mass hysteria caused a few more of them to escape their cages; fewer stuck around in Soul Society. Though why they're in Hell than in the Hollow World, I have no idea except, maybe, that someone has revived the project and my earlier statement is false. That Hollow really could have been the product of a recent experiment.”

Rukia gulped. She felt that tainted presence before, and she hoped she wouldn't feel it again. It was like being threatened at knifepoint and the tiniest of movement could make that blade swipe her head off without resistance. She had been paralyzed during that encounter, and she had dreaded to move lest that imaginary blade were to cut off her neck like a hot knife through butter. What Urahara was saying was that there could be more of these creatures lurking about and Soul Society may as well be ill-prepared to take care of the problem.

“I see.” Though a million thoughts were processing in her head. Most were leaning on the worst-case scenarios. Quite pessimistic. To know more about this new kind of Hollow created through artificial means unnerved her. “What was the gain in creating these altered Hollows? Do you know?”

Urahara shook his head. “I don't. There doesn't seem to be any particular gain. Whatever reasons those people from back then had were taken to their second death. None of the authorities bothered in taking their statements as to why they did what they did, only they've wronged the whole of Soul Society and must be punished severely for it. That's why I didn't bother stepping my foot on that particular branch of research. I didn't see any gain from it, and I'd be endangering Soul Society with a creature they were not prepared to fight.”

Then they were silent. There were plenty of questions to ask, but very little time to do so.

Speaking of time, Rukia realized that she spent too much of it talking with Urahara that she was certain she was already late for class. But she put that thought aside; this concerned Soul Society greatly and she didn't have time to worry about being tardy and keeping secrets from her representative (though she wouldn't mind doing it from time to time, just to spite the guy). But anyhow, she only needed to ask one more thing from Urahara. And her hunch told her that he might have the answers to the mysteries surrounding a particular orange-haired female.

“I only have one more question to ask you, Urahara, then I'll take my leave,” Rukia said. When he made no movement and only stared at her with a serious expression, she asked the question: “Is it possible for a shinigami and a human to bear a child together?”

Ten days passed. Ten days had passed since the Gates of Hell opened, since she finally found her will to fight. Orihime had been working hard to get as far as she could in training with a sword, even if it was only eight days ago when she started the Kendo lessons. Tatsuki had introduced her cousin to Orihime, prompted by the woman's request in finding a sword trainer. Tatsuki had quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, stating nonverbally that she wanted to know the reason for her intentions in knowing how to wield a sword. Orihime's answer was simple: “You taught me Karate, so why don't I learn Kendo as well?”

The logic in that was a little weak, since there wouldn't really be a reason for her to learn Kendo as self-defense when she was already in par with a second dan black belt in Karate. Orihime didn't like lying to her friend, but this was something she needed to do alone and involving Tatsuki, whom did not share the same kind of spirit sensitivity like her and Ichigo, unnecessarily would just put her in danger. The power within Orihime was strong and she willed herself to try and use it.

When the introductions between her and Tatsuki's cousin were over and done with, they immediately went down to business in the dojo. Her new instructor didn't take it easy on her even when he knew that Orihime had recently been dispatched from the Kurosaki clinic due to injuries from an accident she was indirectly involved in. But Orihime wanted him to be rough (and don't get any smart ideas, perverts) because it was the only way for her to improve substantially in a short span of time.

During the second day of their training, Orihime sparred with Tatsuki's cousin. Needless to say, she got her butt handled in so many ways she'll be feeling more bruises than the ones on her back in the morning.

“Rome wasn't built in a day, Inoue-san,” he had said to her, his voice serious though a little worried. He was a second year college student whose classes were in the morning, so he had plenty of free time in the afternoon to teach Orihime. He imposed himself as a strict, dictator-like person but Orihime knew that he had a very soft side he only showed to very close friends and people he admired. When he said those words to her, it was actually a rare occasion for someone like him to get worried over an acquaintance he only met yesterday, according to Tatsuki.

Though those words helped her face a bit of the reality she was facing, it still didn't quiver her determination. Her will to fight was strong, and it would take a major hit for it to back down like a whining puppy. Orihime's first day of Kendo lessons was all about stances and the proper handling of the wooden sword she had in her hands, while the second day was a little bit of sparring since she had no problems with the basic positions and stuff. The cousin also told her that it was a good way for him to assess her current capabilities, but, after her second fall on the mat, immediately surmised that she may not be ready for an actual spar just yet. He said he admired her determination but, like he said before, Rome wasn't built in a day. So she replied to him, “But I'm not Rome. Therefore I'll get a hit on you before this session is over.”

The cousin was . . . shocked for some reason. He looked towards Tatsuki, who was on the sidelines, watching their spar . . . or rather a pseudo-spar; the guy was taking it real easy for her. He knocked on his head twice then pointed at Orihime. Tatsuki shrugged, not really knowing the answer to his inquiry. But she did smile. How odd . . . maybe it was a cousin thing.

The rest of the training sessions passed by with little problems and a whole heap of bruises. Orihime made sure to hide them so not to make anyone worry (other than Tatsuki, she supposed) or inquire about where she got them. But mostly, she didn't want Ichigo to find out about her Kendo lessons because he would definitely take it as a sign that she wasn't giving up on her newfound power. Though that wouldn't be much of a problem either way. Apart from her second `death' in the Kurosaki clinic, Orihime never figured out how to eject her soul from her body. And whether Ichigo were to find out about her lessons or not, she still wouldn't be able to help him if she couldn't go `shinigami' in the snap of a finger.

The only way to do so was to be palm-slapped by Rukia with that red- and blue-colored glove. And the chances of the raven-haired girl complying to do that particular request to Orihime was slim to none.

Orihime snapped out of her thoughts just for her to hear Rukia ask Ichigo to meet her on the roof during lunch. She said it was urgent. Orihime half-thought to sneak up to the roof and listen to their conversation but she knew that it wouldn't end well for her. The two of them would be talking about shinigami duties and her eavesdropping won't really get them anywhere, even if she'd try and pitch in some of the work they already made clear that she will not be involved in. But the student body might have different ideas altogether. Rukia had already enrolled into the school two weeks ago and she was fast becoming one of the most popular girls in class, not because of her grades (most of them were bad; the only good one was Japanese literature) or her damsel-like demeanor (though it did fling the majority of the boys in class to her) but because she was an enigma. And apparently, according to the many rumors Orihime heard flying about in the classroom and the school in general, Ichigo was fast becoming the one Rukia was setting her eyes on. And if she were to start stalking them, it would look like a love triangle—with her side being a one-sided love or something. Rumors didn't really bother her but what about the impact that kind of gossip could do to them in the future? She didn't really know but Orihime couldn't put it to chance and let Fate do its role. But there was probably an unconscious reason as to why she wanted to eavesdrop or even intervene in their conversation. She guessed it was just that the thought of Ichigo and Rukia becoming an item—even if it was only in rumor—made her heart sank deeper than the sea of pity within her being.

. . . And the seed of envy was quickly sprouting.

Class then began and sooner than she expected, it was already lunchtime. Time seemed to flow right by without a pit stop if your thoughts overwhelm most of your brain's activities. The fact that she hadn't thought about anything else other than the supposed meeting between Ichigo and Rukia (she suddenly had a flashback when Ichigo called her out in a similar manner almost two weeks ago) just shouted the word `worry' all over her mind.

Orihime sighed as she took out her unique delicacy for today: French bread with her favorite filling, red bean paste. Red bean paste was supposed to make her feel happy—it was like a cuisine for her if a dish had this, and she'd happily oblige in eating all of it. But now, just the sight of it was trying to make her stomach heave out bile, like smelling a sweaty, two-day-old shirt that was wrapped in plastic and the reek of it, if you smell it more than once, would give you a headache and the desire to throw up your lunch onto the floor.

“Problems?” Tatsuki asked her, shooting meaningful glances at Ichigo, who was following Rukia out of the classroom.

Orihime stared at the entranceway until the door slid back with a loud rustle that only she could hear with so much force that it felt like she was listening to an airplane taking off. They're shutting me away, she thought gloomily. They're pushing me away.

“Orihime?”

“Heh?”

Tatsuki placed both of her forearms on the assembled table they made, crossing them on each other then leaning closer to her as if to observe the girl more up-close. But in actuality: “Is this about what happened between you and Ichigo on the roof two weeks ago?” she whispered to her, so as not to be heard by the girls who were approaching their table.

Orihime shook her head. “No, not at all.” Yes, everything went downhill from there. “I'm fine, really.” I'm torn, really. I feel like my hearts killing me slowly.

Tatsuki looked like she wasn't buying her statements one bit and might've said something to her, if it weren't for Chizuru's immediate intervention.

“Oh Hime,” Chizuru said enthusiastically with a wide smile. “May we eat lunch with you today?” She gestured towards the others.

Orihime nodded. “Sure.”

Chizuru's smile faltered a bit. “Hime, are you all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know it's just that”—she paused, trying to think of the right words to say—“you look a little gloomy today.”

“Orihime-chan, gloomy?” one of the girls muttered in disbelief. “I thought that was impossible.”

“It is impossible,” another girl replied to the first, “unless, of course, someone made her feel gloomy.”

Chizuru gasped and quickly glomped herself onto Orihime. “Oh my Hime! A guy must've made you sad, didn't they? Don't worry. You can cry with your heart's content into my bosom, and I will slowly teach you the reasons why men are no-no's in a relationship. And I will then—”

Whatever Chizuru was about to say next was cut short when Tatsuki put her in a chokehold. She looked a little pissed off. “And a relationship with you,” she said in the same tone as Chizuru's, “is a no-no, too. So . . . KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF!”

SLAM!

From chokehold to grabbing the redhead's waist and initiating a powerful German suplex, head banging onto the floor with a THUD that almost sounded like a CRACK instead. It was an instant smackdown. Steam was rising out of Chizuru's head.

From the distance, Keigo muttered, “The lesbian is wearing black?”

He quickly burned the image out of his head. Not because it was a disturbing thing to see (but if it were any other girl, he'd jump at the opportunity to embed it forever into his head), but because he felt his heart leap at the sight. He must be feeling sick for some reason. He didn't find the redhead attractive at all. Not one bit. Not one bit. Not one bit!

“I think you overdid it, Tatsuki-chan,” Orihime said.

“Ah, she deserved it.” Tatsuki crossed her arms. “But, for once in her life, her intuition may be correct. Is there something I should know about, Orihime?”

Tatsuki was looking at her with worry a friend would usually show if something was wrong that Orihime almost burst out all the negativity she harbored ever since the night her life changed through death. Orihime opened her mouth to say something.

Without warning, someone climbed onto the window beside them. It took a second later to realize that it was Ichigo with a smug look on his face, and another second to realize that he had just jumped into the room with a window on the third floor. Tatsuki and the others were in disbelief, while Ichigo just stood there, looking at everyone.

“This is freshmen class 3, right?” he asked, though that smug look on his face didn't show any kind of perplexity but rather a subtle liking in the perplexity of others. A slight irony, it seemed.

Everybody in class stopped what they were previously doing and turned their attention on the sole person standing at the window.

Orihime looked closely at Ichigo. There was something . . . different about him, somehow. Maybe it was the lack of a scowl. Maybe it was the smile (first time she'd ever seen him smile, too). Maybe it was the fact that he jumped up three stories. She wasn't exactly sure, but she knew something was different.

“Y—you!” Tatsuki brought up an accusing finger at Ichigo, who was still standing tall and amused at the ruckus he made. “How the heck did you get up here?”

“You're asking how, but isn't it obvious?” he said rhetorically. “I jumped up.” He smiled even more after that. “What do you think? Cool, huh? You're shocked, huh?”

A few were muttering in disbelief; some went as far as to scoff and say that Ichigo must've just jumped from the next door window, even though it was almost impossible to do so since a) the gap between that window and the one next door was around six or seven feet, and b) he appeared from below, not from the side, which proved even more that he jumped from the ground.

But Orihime was finally seeing something wrong with Ichigo. The Ichigo she knew didn't like basking in attention like some crazed attention-seeker. And never had she seen Ichigo scanning the whole room with that predatory look as if he was hunting for some mate so he can do the `nasty' with her. She realized then that Ichigo was only looking at the girls in the class, sizing them up like an alpha male. His eyes turned towards her and, for a second, Orihime could've sworn she saw stars in his eyes.

Before she could react, Ichigo rushed to her side and gently took hold of her hand. Orihime blushed a little at the contact. And blushed even more, almost rivaling the shade of a tomato, when Ichigo started rubbing the back of her palm affectionately. The blood was rushing all over her head that she almost felt like passing out.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, beautiful young lady,” he said, acting like Romeo speaking romantically to his Juliet. “Won't thou giveth me the honor of knowing thy name?”

Orihime saw him move his head towards her hand. She felt something wet planting on the center of her hand, blasting a pleasurable shiver all over her body. Her blush magnified in such a way that its shade would no longer have any rivalry with a tomato; the tomato would lose, hands down. But then something tugged within her mentality. A voice of reason in the jumbling thoughts putting chaos within every nook and cranny inside her intellect that began and soon escalated when Ichigo first touched her.

Is this really Ichigo?

The voice of reason was loud, clear, and undeniably vivid in uttering those four words. But it also held a tiny form of disgust, as if it felt dirtied from the kiss Ichigo planted on Orihime's hand.

Orihime suddenly narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

Ichigo stepped back, looking a little frightened by the change in her demeanor. But he straightened himself up quickly and answered, “Why I'm Ichigo Kurosaki, young lady.”

“You look like Ichigo Kurosaki-kun, you mean,” she corrected. “Kurosaki-kun doesn't act the way you do.”

Ichigo was now looking at her wide eyes. He took a few steps back. “Busted, huh?” he muttered, but Orihime heard him clearly.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

Ichigo looked at her straight in the eye, and she found herself staring at brown hollow orbs. They didn't show malice or killing intent. None at all. But the emptiness of them, the void present within the vibrant brown eyes she had seen almost every day and how her heart would flutter every time their gazes made contact with each other was enough to unnerve her greatly. This wasn't Ichigo, of that she was sure now.

“Who knows,” he answered mysteriously. The smug was back and looked more menacing than just mere complacency.

“Hey, Ichigo!” Tatsuki exclaimed, grabbing Ichigo's collar and pulling his face near hers. “What's the big idea kissing Orihime's hand like some third-class actor playing Casanova, huh?”

Ichigo blinked a few times at her, slightly confused, before a grin played around his lips. “You know, you're actually pretty cute up-close.” And before Tatsuki could react, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Orihime didn't feel a pang of jealousy this time. She already understood that this was not Ichigo, though it did give her a mental image of what Tatsuki's boyfriend might be like. Tatsuki and Ichigo . . . hmm, could be but maybe not meant to be.

Every girl, excluding Orihime and Tatsuki, were screaming in horror.

Tatsuki's cheeks were blooming with that familiar tomato shade as she touched the spot where Ichigo's lips had kissed her. But Orihime realized that the blush her best friend had was a combination of two emotions that readily brought out a reddish tint in anyone's face. One was embarrassment. The other was rage. And Tatsuki had plenty of the latter. So much that Orihime felt Tatsuki's reiatsu flare up in-sync with her anger. It was small and very mild—a normal reading for any emotional person, from what Rukia told her about reiatsu—but definitely there. And if her hunch was right, Tatsuki would be demanding for blood right about now. This time, however . . . it won't be just a figure of speech.

“YOU BASTARD!” Tatsuki screamed. She grabbed a nearby table and threw it at Ichigo. He easily dodged it, and it flew right out the window. Glass shattered and the rest of the students in the class were backing away from the front of the room. Tatsuki didn't seem to care for that, however. She just took another table and hurled it at the orange-haired male.

“Tatsuki-chan! Stop it, please!” Orihime tried to pacify her friend but it was no good.

“What's wrong with you,” Ichigo said as he dodged another chair thrown at his way, “acting all upset over just a kiss on the cheek? What are you, a third grader?”

“Shut up!”

Another chair thrown; he dodged yet again. This might go on until the end of lunchtime, Orihime thought. But just then, the door to the room slid open and in came a person she was happy to see.

“Kuchiki-san!” Maybe she has some answers.

“You,” Rukia said with narrowed eyes at Ichigo. Orihime saw Ichigo looking like he was found with his hands inside the cookie jar.

“Crap!” he cursed and abruptly ran towards the open window. He was almost near it when a person garbed in black clothing jumped up onto it in a similar manner as the person currently running towards it.

“Kurosaki-kun?” Orihime gasped. There were two Ichigos. One in physical form; the other in shinigami form. What was going on here?

“Stop right there,” Shinigami Ichigo said. “You're not going anywhere with my body. Rukia!”

“Ready!” she replied, adjusting the soul-ejecting glove in her right hand.

Shinigami Ichigo dashed up to his enemy and hoped to grab him by the shoulders, but Fake Ichigo was somehow too fast for him to get a hold on. Fake Ichigo swiftly dodged to the left and kicked Shinigami Ichigo on the face, following it up with a seven-combo kick all straight at his abdomen. The force of the kick was incredibly powerful that Orihime saw Shinigami Ichigo slowly rising up the air from the impact of each kick. He ended the onslaught by directing his kick towards the back of the room, where Shinigami Ichigo was pushed and dragged to the floor by the mere force of the attack, hitting the tables and chairs along the way.

Orihime was stunned at the fight. Ichigo had no chance in fighting the fake, but she thought she might be able to help. If what she observed from the fight as well as the situation was correct, then the Ichigo in shinigami garbs was the real Ichigo while the one in the physical body must be someone who was possessing it, sort of like that scary entity from the Exorcist. The only way, it seemed, to get rid of the possession was to use Rukia's soul-ejecting glove on the fake Ichigo. Rukia only needed time to get close to the target and slap his palm on their head. Ichigo was supposed to be the distraction for that plan, but it was already foiled before it even started. That's why she thought she could be of some help. She was not an unofficial second degree Karate black belter for nothing, after all. One of the things she learned from Tatsuki's lessons was the way of subduing your opponents, giving you time to escape. She said it would help when you're being overwhelmed by a gang of molesters (Tatsuki had almost said `rapists' instead, but Orihime still got the message) and give you that extra time to make a quick getaway. Now it was time to actually use those lessons to the test.

Before attacking, Orihime wondered why she instantly had such insight of the situation when chaos was flooding her very mindset before then. And the answer clicked just as quickly as she had observed and understood everything that had transpired in the span of five seconds.

It was the voice of reason again. But where was that voice of reason actually coming from?

Never mind, for now. Fake Ichigo was about to escape through the window. Orihime quickly intercepted him before he can come close to it. He sneered before trying to make his way around her. She cut him off just as fast. Fake Ichigo now looked desperate as Rukia was slowly making her way towards them. Whatever respect he had to her was now gone as he deliberately tried to strike with a backhand at her. But with her self-defense training, she was able to block it with minimal contact, changing the course of the kinetic energy, and immediately went for a counterattack. Only this counter was in a chokehold the same as the one Tatsuki did to Chizuru. Her frame was quite smaller than Ichigo's body, but her advantage in this hold was quite enough to make up for it. It actually took Tatsuki around ten seconds to escape from her hold the last time they sparred.

“Hold him still!” Rukia shouted as she began dashing towards them, her palm ready for the strike.

Fake Ichigo squirmed and did everything he could to try and escape, but Orihime's chokehold was strong and whenever he tried to get a grip on her forearms or try to elbow her from behind, she surprisingly prevented any of these things with ease. She only needed to attack him in the vulnerable places as distractions (like strengthening the grip on the hold, squeezing up his throat, just when he was about to grab hold of her forearm; kicking him at the back of the knee when he was about to elbow her; and shaking him around while slowly but surely increasing the pressure on the hold). The only thing she was doing was buying time, and it only took around three or four seconds for Rukia to step next to them and initiate her palm strike.

But two seconds before it could come, Fake Ichigo whispered to Orihime, “Nice rack.” He was then rubbing his back onto the body part where it was making contact with: Her big chest.

Orihime reacted as any female who would be situated in such a way that a man was `getting a feel' in an indirect way. Her concentration quivered and her hold on him hesitated. But that was all he needed to grab her arm (one on her forearm, the other on her bicep) and hurl her sideways straight towards Rukia, her palm still extended.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. But the end result was that mattered. Rukia's palm made a pinpoint hit on Orihime's forehead, ejecting her soul right of her body which slumped to the floor like how a dead man falls after getting shot in the head, her eyes glazed and soulless.

Everything was in a world of colors before Orihime got her bearings straight again. She was sitting not too far away from where her body had dropped dead to the floor without anything to cushion the fall. She was now in her shinigami form. Most of her classmates shouted her name, worried over her physical body's condition, but they paid no attention to where her soul was at. Of course, they were only ordinary humans. They couldn't see souls. So—

“Orihime?”

—why was Tatsuki looking at her and not her physical body?

“W—what's going on?” Tatsuki asked.

Their talk was cut short when Orihime saw Fake Ichigo jump towards the window. “Later,” he said, disappeared from her sight.

“Hey!” Shinigami Ichigo yelled. But when he got to the window, he hit his fist at the wall. “Dammit!”

Rukia joined him at the window a few moments later. Her face had that disbelief look, as if the ruckus caused by them was impossible. “It can't be,” Orihime heard her mutter.

“What the hell kind of guy was that?” Ichigo questioned, obviously angry. And he must be. His body just got stolen by the person possessing it. “If those Gikongan (Replacement soul) things are suppose to act that way, then you can take it back where you bought it, Rukia. Once we get my body back I'm not taking any more.”

“Gikongan don't act like this,” she replied, “unless they're not ordinary Gikongan.”

“What?”

“That was not a Gikongan. That was a Modified Soul.”

“Modified—?” He paused. And then said, “Look, you can explain on the way. Right now we need to catch this guy.”

Ichigo jumped out of the window as Rukia nodded. She turned around and ran out of the classroom. Both of them didn't even notice Orihime looking and listening to them. By now, most of the students were crowding on Orihime's body, some were panicking and saying they should call the nurse.

Most of them, that is. One student, however, was not joining her classmates' frantic situation, though she did have a very puzzled expression as she stared at—for an ordinary human—nothing. But to a spirit-sensitive's eyes, they would see an orange-haired woman wearing a black kimono. “Orihime,” Tatsuki said.

“Tatsuki-chan.” Orihime was surprised. Tatsuki can see her. What did that mean? Did she have spirit sensitivity like she did? But she never showed any kind of power or knowledge in seeing the dead before. So why now?

Even though there was doubt in the thought that Tatsuki might be able to see spirits, Orihime really didn't have time to be brainstorming like that at a time as crucial as now. Ichigo's body was stolen and her body was being crowded by over a dozen of her classmates. It wouldn't be long before they found out her body wasn't breathing. This was a decision she had to make quickly. Should she go back into her body and wait for Ichigo and Rukia to come back? Or should she let her body stay this way and help them out?

But then she realized she didn't need to think this over. If she thought about it this would be her chance to show those two the fruits of her labor. She looked at herself. She felt complete control over her shinigami form. No voices. No drowsiness or bouts of unconsciousness. And no feeling of her irises shifting into the malevolent shade of brown. She was in control. Complete control. Her will to fight was strong and it would take an atomic bomb or something of that magnitude to make it quiver. Yes, the decision had already been made.

“Tatsuki-chan.” Said girl listened to her. “If you can hear me, then please make sure that my body is safe.” Orihime pointed at the crowding students. One student, Chizuru, pushed most of them back, saying they should give Orihime some air . . . not that it would make much difference since her body wasn't breathing at all but the redhead—or any of them, for that matter—didn't need to know that. “I'll explain everything when I come back.”

Tatsuki nodded, determination and trust were in her eyes.

Thank you, Tatsuki-chan.

Without further time to waste, Orihime leapt out of the window and quickly made haste to catch up to Ichigo and Rukia, and their pursuit of Ichigo's body.

Chapter Afterword:

The small verse I had Urahara sing was the first chorus of Boku-tachi wa Tenshi Datta (We were Angels in English). That was the 2nd Ending theme song of one of my favorite anime of all time, Dragonball Z. Plus, it was sung by Hironobu Kageyama! I've liked his songs ever since I heard him sing Choujin Sentai Jetman's opening and ending theme songs. Ah . . . good times. Good times.

As for Keigo's mutterings, I did a slight pairing implication between those two. Both perverts in their own way . . . though I wish Chizuru would go bi. Now there's a reason for these two to become a pairing. But if they ever have a relationship, I'm pretty sure it'll be a rocky one . . . kinda like Ron and Hermione's infamous rows during the early books of the Harry Potter series. Full of arguments but full of love, I suppose. Another note: If some of you don't get the “wearing black” part, then picture this: A high school girl in a skirt being given a German Suplex (Google it, if you're not a wrestling fan). I'm pretty sure that leaves nothing to the imagination, ei?