“I’m telling you—”
It was a silent city, filled with countless towering skyscrapers.
Looking up, the sky was a brilliant blue with a few scattered white clouds; looking further, however, there was only a vast, white void.
Even stranger was the fact that only two people inhabited this city, and both stood upright on the exterior glass of a skyscraper, as if completely unaffected by gravity.
“How much longer are you going to keep this up?!
Huh?!!!”
A hoarse voice, sounding as if it had been digitally processed with an electronic distortion, rang out, sending ripples through the seemingly calm waters of the atmosphere.
“It’s been so many years!
Do you really want Ichigo to continue living like this?!”
The speaker wore a white kimono and appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years old.
A large sword wrapped in bandages was strapped to his back.
Everything about him, including his clothes, was white—except for his pupils, which were yellow, and his sclera, which were pitch black.
“If it could stay this way, I would want it to last forever.”
A calm voice responded.
Facing the man in white was a middle-aged man in a long black coat, with long hair, a beard, and translucent sunglasses, his expression entirely flat.
“That’s impossible!” the white-clad man’s strange voice echoed across the sky.
“Whether it’s the one who created my predecessor or your own original self, neither would ever allow Ichigo to spend his life in ordinary peace!”
“…”
The man in black remained silent.
He was always like this.
Over the years, the white-clad man’s rhetoric had never changed, and he had long since grown used to it.
…
The rain-soaked world fell silent for a moment.
The white-clad man did not have much time to manifest; according to their usual pattern, he would vanish shortly.
“Speaking of which, it’s about time, isn’t it?” The white-clad man’s voice grew calmer, though it retained that processed, electronic quality.
“The time for that guy to take back his power.”
“…Yeah…
I think it’s today,” the man in black replied, looking slightly surprised.
“I didn’t expect you to care about this.”
“But don’t worry.
Because you’re here, I won’t be the one taken.”
“I couldn’t care less about you, you bastard!” the white-clad man snapped.
“You once said that only so-called pure-blood Quincies, or someone like Ichigo who has my power within them, cannot have their power stripped away.”
“It occurred to me…
what will happen to her?
The one whose bloodline was tainted by my predecessor, who then passed that predecessor onto Ichigo, and who possesses no Hollow power of her own…”
“…” The man in black was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
“Tsk!” The white-clad man clicked his tongue.
“Just pray that nothing happens to her!
Otherwise, since your original self is her murderer…
what will Ichigo think?”
“…”
The man in black maintained his customary silence, but unlike previous times, the white-clad man did not disappear.
Furthermore, it was as if some valve had been opened; the very atmosphere of the city began to shift.
The white-clad man felt it—or rather, he was the source of the change.
“Heh!” The corners of the white-clad man’s mouth curled upward, eventually forming a somewhat savage grin.
“Is this how it’s going to be?
Just a little bit more.
If you let me out just a tiny bit more, all your hard work over the years will vanish into nothing.”
“I do not wish to see Ichigo look sad and hollow.”
“Especially a void within him that he may never be able to fill.” The man in black’s flat expression became solemn.
“For that, I am willing to sacrifice everything.”
“Heh!” The white-clad man’s voice became noticeably excited.
“That’s the spirit!
As the manifestations of Ichigo’s power, that is the kind of resolve we should have!”
“…”
The man in black lapsed into silence once more.
The white-clad man also pulled back his smile, waiting with a grave expression for the appointed moment to arrive.
Aside from the one and only Supreme King, no one knew of this conversation.
And even that King, in this moment, lost his grip on fate.
The destiny that had been predetermined was changed in an instant by this conversation that should never have happened.
…
Six years ago, June 17th, a rainy day.
Continuous dark clouds blanketed the entire sky as a drizzling rain fell.
Trucks sped along the road, splashing through puddles.
The spray hit a mother and son on the sidewalk; because the child was closer to the curb, he bore the brunt of the splash.
“Oh, that truck was so rude.
Ichigo, are you okay?” The mother, who had long, wavy orange hair, pulled out a handkerchief.
“Let’s swap places; let Mommy stand on the outside.”
“I’m okay, Mom.” The child, Ichigo, had the same orange hair as his mother.
“Luckily I have my raincoat, so I’ll stay on the outside.
It’s fine!”
The mother used the handkerchief to wipe the rainwater from little Ichigo’s face, while his small yellow raincoat protected his clothes.
“This way, I can protect Mom!” A wide smile spread across his small face as Ichigo pumped his fist.
“I’m a big boy now!”
“Yes, yes, our Ichigo is a very brave big boy,” his mother said with a beaming smile.
“But it’s no use; you can only stand on the outside once you can beat Tatsuki!”
“I’ve already beaten her once!” Ichigo mumbled incoherently while having his face wiped.
“Mommy didn’t hear anything.”
“I said I’ve already beaten her once!”
“Alright, alright.” Patting Ichigo’s hair, the mother naturally moved to the side closest to the road.
“All clean.
Let’s go.”
“Can I hold your hand, Mom?”
Ichigo asked timidly.
After all, as someone who prided himself on being a “big boy,” he felt a bit embarrassed to be nine years old and still holding his mother’s hand.
Moreover, the atmosphere of the rainy night and the empty streets made him feel slightly uneasy.
“Of course you can!”
The mother smiled and reached out, her touch like gentle water soothing the slight anxiety in Ichigo’s heart.
Happy, Ichigo took his mother’s hand and began walking toward home.
The mother led the child through the rainy night.
Not far away, the river flowed rapidly.
Perhaps because of the rain, there was not a single soul on the road besides them.
“Hm?”
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo spotted a silhouette across the road.
Looking closer, he saw a person standing on the riverbank—a tiny figure, appearing to be only five or six years old.
“Mom, wait for me.”
Without waiting, Ichigo climbed over the roadside railing, crossed the street, and ran toward the smaller child.
“Eh?”
The mother blinked.
By the time she reacted, Ichigo had already bolted.
She also saw the child on the riverbank, and her instincts and years of experience told her immediately that the creature was absolutely not human.
Before she could think further, Ichigo had nearly crossed the road.
In her desperation, she could only shout at the top of her lungs as she rushed after him.
“No!
Ichigo!”