“Sister…
I mean, Brother-in-law!”
A thin, cloaked figure sprinted all the way to their meeting spot, gasping for breath and shouting before he even came to a halt.
“Watch your words, little guy!” Haru teased.
“Who’s your brother-in-law?”
“I’m just used to calling you that!” The boy pulled back his hood, revealing an adorable, dark-skinned face.
“Brother-in-law, here’s what you asked for!” Yūshirō reached into his robes, pulled out a small booklet, and eagerly handed it to Haru.
Haru sighed softly.
Honestly, out of this entire arranged marriage mess, the only thing he would genuinely miss was his incredibly understanding little brother-in-law.
But his sights were set on the vast sea of stars.
How could he give up the entire forest just for one tree named Yoruichi?
“Yūshirō…” Haru began, striking a dramatic pose and patting the boy heavily on the shoulder.
“Your brother-in-law won’t be able to look after you anymore!”
“Ah!” Yūshirō’s face instantly crumpled.
He looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he quickly swallowed them down and pumped his fists.
“Don’t worry, Brother-in-law!
Big Sis just hasn’t met you yet!
Once she sees you, she’ll definitely change her mind.
Just wait a little longer—I’ll set something up!”
‘What a great kid!’ Haru thought.
‘It’s too bad your brother-in-law absolutely does not want that!’
“Spare me,” Haru waved him off casually.
“I’ve already been kicked to the curb.
If I go crawling back now, I’d never be able to show my face in the Seireitei again.
I can’t afford that kind of embarrassment!”
“But—”
“Relax!
Remember those stories I told you?
The ones about the underdog youth, the turning tides of fortune, the king’s triumphant return, and the hidden badass who slaps all his haters in the face?
When the time comes, I’ll come back to see you.”
Leaving Yūshirō with his teary, reluctant puppy-dog eyes, Haru gave a dashing wave and turned away.
After wandering through the winding streets, Haru finally arrived at his somewhat dilapidated estate on the outer fringes of the noble district.
He greeted Yuriko, the elderly servant who had practically raised him, before retreating to his room and collapsing onto the floor with a long exhale.
Today’s objectives: completely cleared.
Haru Shimizu.
Gender: Male.
Orientation: Strictly women.
Age: Unknown.
He had been kicking around the Soul Society for several decades now.
Family background: A fallen minor noble clan subservient to the Shihōin family.
His mother had died young, and his father was the textbook definition of a decaying Soul Society aristocrat.
Clinging to the past glory of his ancestors and perpetually bitter about reality, the old man had died of sheer depression ten years ago.
“Haru!
The duty of reviving our clan falls to you!
I can no longer do it, but I have secured a wonderful marriage for you!
Go find your Uncle Marenoshin; I’ve arranged everything!”
When the old man had mumbled his final words and dissolved into Reishi, Haru had genuinely felt a pang of sorrow.
Sure, the guy was a mess on a good day—squandering their family fortune and spending all his time drinking and partying—but he had always treated Haru well enough.
On his way to find Omaeda, Haru had actually been a little excited.
He vaguely remembered that the lieutenant had a daughter whose appearance completely broke the family mold—a rare beauty who was a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the clan.
Marrying her wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.
But in this timeline, he wasn’t even sure if that daughter had been born yet.
Wasn’t it a bit too early for an arranged marriage?
It wasn’t until he met Marenoshin that he was left utterly speechless.
The engagement wasn’t with the Omaeda family at all.
It was with the Shihōin clan.
How the hell was he supposed to revive his own family like that?
He’d be forced to change his name to Haru Shihōin!
Even though Yoruichi was an absolute catch, how could a single tree compare to a lush, sprawling jungle?
Haru let his mind wander for a moment before shaking himself back to reality.
He pulled out the small booklet Yūshirō had given him and flipped through the pages.
To be fair, he hadn’t done nothing over the past ten years.
He hadn’t just been enjoying the decadent, lazy lifestyle of a noble.
First, he had cultivated a genuinely great relationship with his little brother-in-law.
Second, he had successfully roped in the still-young Sui-Feng—who was currently going by her birth name, Shaolin Fong.
For long-lived beings like Soul Reapers, physical appearance meant absolutely nothing when it came to actual age.
Studies suggested that changes in appearance had some inexplicable connection to a person’s mindset, self-perception, and spiritual power.
Take him and Shaolin, for instance.
Between the two of them, they had to be over a hundred years old, yet they both still looked like fresh-faced teenagers.
Haru skimmed through the booklet.
It was packed to the margins with the Shihōin clan’s closely guarded Shunpo techniques, along with personal notes allegedly written by that obnoxious woman, Yoruichi, herself.
Everyone knew how to use Shunpo, but mastering it was incredibly difficult.
These techniques might look simple on paper, but they were priceless treasures.
They were the very foundation the Great Noble Clans used to maintain their status and power—secrets they would never, ever share with outsiders.
Haru let out a sigh.
‘That kid really went out of his way for me.
I’ll have to make sure I look out for him if I ever get the chance.’
After committing the text to memory, Haru walked out into his bleak courtyard, flicked his wrist to ignite a brazier, and watched the paper curl and turn to ash in the flames.
Only then did he return to his room.
Sprawling out on his futon, Haru stared up at the ceiling.
His mind drifted back to his previous life.
It felt so incredibly distant, like it belonged to an entirely different dimension, the memories already beginning to blur.
In his past life, he had been a psychiatric patient.
The doctors called it Dissociative Identity Disorder, but he never bought it.
He always felt perfectly normal.
As the saying goes, a long illness makes the patient a doctor.
He had read so much about his condition that he was practically a half-expert on it.
The most obvious symptom of the disorder was that each alter’s traits were usually the polar opposite of the host’s.
If the original personality was shy and repressed, the new one might be wildly extroverted.
His argument for why the doctors were wrong was, admittedly, a bit peculiar.
It was a sunny afternoon when Haru, brimming with confidence, had cornered his attending physician right before lunch to submit his 108th request for discharge.
“Dr.
Chen, you keep saying I’m sick, but I finally have proof that I’m completely fine.”
The doctor had sighed, stopping despite his growling stomach to humor him.
After all, nobody wanted to aggravate a mental patient.
“Logically speaking, if every personality is different, they’d all like different things, right?
Over time, the likes and dislikes of the alters would start to bleed into the host’s senses.
Isn’t that right?”
The doctor nodded, conceding the point.
“But I’ve been here for so long, and I’ve only ever had eyes for that one cute nurse!
Doesn’t that prove I’m totally consistent?”
Dr.
Chen’s face had immediately iced over, but Haru, completely oblivious, just kept rambling.
“And like the other day, when your wife came to drop off your lunch?
I saw her.
And look, I didn’t find your wife attractive at all!
She’s a bit saggy.
Doesn’t that prove my brain isn’t fractured?”
That very night, the doctor had doubled his medication.
Maybe it had been a bit too much?
Because the next thing he knew, he had crossed over into another world.
After inexplicably transmigrating into the world of Bleach, his original personality had gone into overdrive, completely absorbing and fusing with all his other distinct alters.
It was only then that he realized he really had been crazy in his past life.
But the fusion had left him with some incredibly fortunate side effects.
Not only had his learning capacity and comprehension skyrocketed…
but his taste in women had genuinely broadened out of control.
Lying there on his bed, he let out a quiet breath.
The essential starter pack for any transmigrator—a golden cheat—was something everyone got, and he was no exception.
It was just that his cheat’s presence was incredibly thin.
He didn’t need to clock in for daily rewards, nor did a system constantly pop up to announce its existence.
In fact, it had been completely dormant this entire time.