Chapter One: Controlling Butterflies

2:32 AM, Friday

Karakura District, Tokyo

The slim pale ghost of a woman floated in the black starless sky over the distantly sparkling city, the inky dark hair around her head iridescent in the moonlight, mingling with the night around her. Her cheekbones were starved icebergs, her eyes pools of liquid plum; she was exceedingly small, impeccably graceful, deceptively delicate. Black swallowtail butterflies fluttered around her. They had their job, and they did it with precision. She could admire that. They were much simpler than conscious souls.

The woman wore traditional black robes with a white under-robe, and a katana sword sheathed at her hip. She had a map in front of her, was perusing it. A little furrow formed between her eyebrows, the only sign of tension.

She had a mission, but this sector of it seemed... odd.

It was awash with spirit energy. Yet there were no unusual alerts in the system. No Hollow gatherings, no massacres. Nothing to cause as much concentrated energy as this. Perhaps the info was coming in late? Either way, she had to investigate. It was her duty - well, one of them, anyway.

The oddest thing about the spirit energy was that it all seemed to center around one source. A source she couldn't immediately identify, because the energy was spread so far out around its point of origin, but still. One source.

What could possibly create anything that big?

Strawberry

7:30 PM, Friday

Karakura District, Tokyo

A sigh. "Boys, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The skateboarders messing around in the alleyway all whirled around to look. A teenage girl was standing there. She'd come so silently, in the darkness, that she seemed to have simply appeared there, like some sort of spirit. She was leaning against the alley wall, her arms crossed, emphasizing her ample bosom - a nice term for giant boobs.

One of the skateboarders leered. "Hey, baby, how you doin'?" The five thugs started coming toward her, cat-calling. A lesser teenage girl might have been afraid.

Kurosaki Ichigo rolled her eyes.

She knew what it was, she'd expected it, but it was still annoying. "Ichigo" meant "strawberry." Cute name, right? Like those stupid little strawberry shortcake dolls. But Ichigo was no cute, stupid little girl. She had long legs, big thighs, wide hips, a big juicy ass, and very large, full breasts. A lot of it was muscle, too - she'd just come from karate and kendo club meetings, in both of which she was of the highest rank there was, and she had a wooden sword crossed onto her back behind her. She wore a tight little high school uniform that did nothing but emphasize her body, and had messy run-your-fingers-through-it fiery-colored hair that made people think she was a Yankee, a female gangster, tied up behind her head in a bone and fang hair clip. She wore flame-red lipstick, a peppery, orange blossomy perfume called Black Opium, and dangling wood-cut earrings. Her converse shoes had NORMAL IS BORING printed across them in big block letters. Warm amber brown eyes peered out from her face like two crescent moons. Warm like the shade of her skin.

Here was the thing. Ichigo knew she was sexy. See, people believed sex was a physical thing; sex wasn't a purely physical thing. If a girl was to be sexy, she had to be sexy everywhere. For Ichigo, it was holistic. There was her exotic appearance, her deep sultry voice, her love of bluesy and punk rocker girls, her delight over horror movies, the way she dumped hot sauce all over her food, her loves of classical dog-eared old books and dark chocolate, and the fact that she was in a college-level poetry course despite the fact that she was only fifteen. There was the way she liked to dress up as a Goth Lolita in the Harajuku district. There was her deadpan sense of humor, and the whimsical crystals she held up on strings in her bedroom and from her book bag. There was her interest in politics and philosophy. There were her moments of angst, her moments of sensitive romance, her moments of self loathing and vulnerability, but the fact that they were usually hidden behind a veneer of toughness. It made guys feel protective. That wasn't something she tried for; it was just something she achieved. Then there was the fact that Katy Perry, bold and crazy and fearlessly sexual, was her guilty secret love. There were her perfect grades, her good-girl reserve mixed with her bad-girl self confidence and her delinquent appearance. The fact that her Dad was a doctor who thought she was his perfect little girl. The fact that she wasn't his perfect little girl. The fact that she could kick the ass of pretty much every guy she'd ever met. She was even thinking of getting a tattoo, just to complete the picture. She was a wet dream. Guys liked her. She got that.

Then they got to know her.

"Look, assholes," she said bluntly, slinging down her bookbag. "I'm going to try doing this the easy way first. A little girl was shot here last week, in case you didn't know. And that?" She pointed at a vase full of white lilies, smashed over on its side, broken petals scattered everywhere, sagging sadly in the puddle of water muddied brown with debris from the street. "That's my offering to her that you smashed into and ruined with your skateboards. You need to get out of here. Show some respect."

The vase wasn't the only thing they had done. A thin layer of filth and grime, old cigarette butts and broken beer bottles, now coated the road of the alleyway, the little girl's final resting place, and graffiti had been splashed onto the walls, not the wondrous kind of artistic graffiti, but the angular kind that displayed bad words and stupid messages, offending Tokyo's very reputation as one of the cleanest cities in the world. Not that Ichigo cared much about Tokyo's reputation. But she did care about people littering needlessly and disrespecting the dead. Both actions, in her opinion, deserved a special level of Hell.

The skateboarders laughed. Not a good sign for their future physical health. "Why, is she gonna come back and haunt us?" Snickering.

"Idiots," said Ichigo flatly. "She's hanging right above you."

"Huh?" They looked up - saw nothing - and that afforded her the opportunity she needed. She leaped upward, bending her legs in a midair split, and kicked two in the face; they went down in showers of blood with broken noses. She landed deftly, swept one's feet, and elbowed him in the face on the way down. She pulled out her sheathed wooden sword and hit one over the head with the handle, sinking the other end into the gut of the one behind her.

And then she was standing there calmly, surrounded by five downed, groaning thugs. She put her sword at her back again.

Then all of a sudden, Ichigo looked up - and smiled angelically. She reached out and put her arms around something - and a little girl appeared there in her embrace. A staring little girl, pigtailed, with one big eye and one empty eye socket, blood running down the side of her face, a hole through her head. A metal chain hung from her chest. She floated there, staring at them, glowing faintly in the dim yellow streetlight from the streetlamp in front of the corner store one block down.

It was the dead little girl, the skateboarders realized.

Ichigo put her chin on the transparent girl's shoulder, tilted her head, gave a slow, eerie smile. "I think we can get you to leave us alone now," she said sweetly. "Don't you?"

One guy actually pissed himself.

"Shit, shit, shit!" they hissed, staggering to their feet, stumbling out of the alley. "We're sorry, we're sorry!" With shrieks and calls, they fled. Skateboards lay overturned in their wake, the last sign of them.

Once they were gone, Ichigo dropped her arms and snickered. It never got old, scaring the shit out of normal people. "Well," she commented to the little girl, hand on her hip, "I don't think they'll be back anytime soon."

Oh yeah, a tiny little detail you should probably know about Kurosaki Ichigo: she could see and contact dead people.

"Thank you for getting rid of them," said the ghost of the little girl, bowing slightly.

"Eh." Ichigo waved her hand and looked away, hard to read. "You asked for help, so I helped you. There's nothing to it. D'you need anything else?"

"No. I can rest peacefully now," said the little girl with a small, glowing smile. "Now that they're gone."

"Good, good. I'll bring fresh flowers soon, clean this place up for you," said Ichigo, moving to get her bookbag and leave. "See you soon, okay?" She began walking out of the alleyway.

"Nee-san?" Ichigo looked around. The little girl had taken to calling her 'Big Sister.' "If I had grown up to be a woman," said the little girl, smiling, "I'd want to be like you."

Ichigo tried to smile, but her eyes were sad. "Don't say that," she said.

Ichigo was not a good role model for any young girl. Ichigo was a frigid bitch, hard to put up with, probably destined to end up alone. But it was more than that. Ichigo held a very dark secret, the guilt of which she carried with her always.

Kurosaki Ichigo had killed her mother.

She made the walk back home in the darkness, stopping in front of the rectangular white building with big windows whose sign read Kurosaki Clinic. Her Dad worked from home; he was a doctor. His clinic was popular around the district, because he'd do things for cheaper money than any of the large hospitals would. He couldn't do major surgery or permanent in-patient care; his was more of an in-and-out hospital: blood tests, diagnoses and prescriptions for illnesses, that sort of thing. He was a good doctor, she'd give him that, and a loyal doting family man, even if he was kind of a spazzy dork in every other part of his life. The hospital was devoted to the bottom and front part of the two-story house. The home got the rest.

Ichigo had always wondered if maybe she and her little sisters could see ghosts because they'd grown up in a place that had the power to regulate life and death. The evidence was that Dad couldn't see dead people. Perhaps you had to grow up in that kind of environment, in order to truly see. Ichigo had certainly seen her fair share of dead people. Helping her Dad with simple nursing duties in the clinic, watching the light leave someone's eyes had become normal. Shit happened. Car accidents. Heart attacks. That sort of thing. Shit happened.

Death happened.

She walked around the back of the house, slipped off her shoes, took off her wooden sword, and headed through the back door into the kitchen and living room area. "I'm home," she announced, walking inside, once more taking it all in: In the living room, the sofa and large-screen television, the countless little closets and drawers that could pull out because Japanese houses were built compact with lots of extra spaces built-in, the wood and white, the neutrals, the homely curtains, the wooden floorboards, the high-piled rugs, the simplicity chosen specifically because it was the only design they all found relaxing and could agree on. In the kitchen, Ichigo's space, the round wood kitchen table surrounded by Western-style chairs and the surrounding countertop, stove, oven, and cupboards, the large window with airy window treatments across the room letting in light onto the space during the day, the soft woods and greens and coastal colors, the marble countertop decorated with a fresh bowl of fruit and vegetables, the oversized wrought iron pendant lights, the exposed ceiling beams, the mosaic tiles, the countless curves, the jar of olives next to countless jars of spices by the sink.

No one in the house was surprised by the late hour. Ichigo got home late every night - and immediately afterward, she always went to the kitchen to make dinner. The Kurosaki family had no mother - Kurosaki Masaki had died years ago, and had left no ghostly presence behind, only a memorial shrine that Dad talked to faithfully every day - and so Ichigo, the eldest child and daughter, had taken over the motherly duties for her household. She cooked dinner every night, made breakfast and bento lunches every morning, and on weekends she cleaned the house and did the laundry. All her family had to do was clean up the kitchen for her every evening, and make their beds every morning - she'd assigned them the chores herself.

As she threw her book bag down and moved into the kitchen to make dinner - tonight she was thinking miso soup, rice, grilled fish, wild grass salad, and boiled carrots - her family greeted her homecoming.

"Nee-chan!" said Yuzu enthusiastically, as Karin perked up. There was the 'Big Sister' again, said in the same admiring tones, yet again from two more little girls.

"Sweet daughter of mine, you come home later and grow farther from me every day!" her father cried dramatically - he was a big, black-haired, bearded man, barrel-chested, with a booming voice and a penchant for humorous insanity. He charged toward her, his arms open. "Come, be embraced against your father's manly chest -!"

Ichigo flatly put out a hand to stop her father before he could crush her into one of his suffocating embraces. "Dad, you're being weird again. If you ruin dinner and I have to start from scratch, you're not getting any," she said. "And I'm not growing away from you, Dad. I'm just busy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Yuzu, one of the almost-middle-school-aged fraternal twins, who had a bob of cinnamon brown hair and a sweet smile. "You've had less time for us since you started high school, too, Nee-chan."

"We're all agreed! We should stage an Ichigo intervention! There should be cake!" Dad announced.

"No cake. No intervention. Busy." She glared slightly for effect.

Dad was unfazed. "This house is not a democracy!"

"It sure as hell is. Do you even know how to cook and clean for yourself? What if I staged a protest and stopped doing anything, huh? What then?" Ichigo put a hand on her hip, annoyed.

"Dad, stop pissing off Ichigo, I don't want to have to do my own laundry!" Karin, the other fraternal twin, with black hair and sharp sarcastic features, exclaimed.

"My own daughters turning against me," said Dad, wounded, flinching away as if struck. He was kidding. Dad was always kidding. "It must be puberty!"

"Dad, as evidenced by how you handled my first period, you know nothing about female puberty," said Ichigo, chopping up ingredients. The twins giggled.

"I told you that you weren't dying!" Dad protested.

"Yeah, Dad. Spectacular parenting moment. Now go sit over there and wait for dinner to be done." Ichigo glared and pointed.

It was all for show. Ichigo would die before she admitted it to her father, but when she looked at her list of qualities she wanted in a man, a lot of them reminded her of him. It was somewhat horrifying and super embarrassing; not something she tried for, but something she'd achieved nonetheless. Her ideal man:

- had a good sense of humor

- was much more relaxed and laidback than she was

- was a bit of a bad boy (as her father had, by her mother's admission, been when he was younger)

- was a comfortably masculine man

- could be a bit of a showoff, was much more extroverted than she was, could brighten her whole day

Maybe it wasn't the healthiest list in the world, but whenever she met a new boy, she went through the list in her head to see if he met all of her criteria. No one had made the whole list yet, and so she had dated no one. Love didn't factor into the equation for her - she didn't think she was the type to do something as inconvenient as fall in love. No, for her, finding a proper mate was a mental exercise, and so far no one had made the cut. Ichigo thought her list sounded more like a wild American country boy than a traditional Japanese man, which could be part of her problem. Her rationale was that she could be the serious one in the relationship - be the tough, self-confident, internationally traveling breadwinner businesswoman. And if that businesswoman also wrote her man romantic poetry on the side, that was nobody's business but theirs.

She had her favorite lyrics about men from individual songs, of course, as most secretly romantic music lovers did:

From Elle King's "Make You Smile":

Your eyes look mighty fine, I really think I'm losin'.

…

You taste like sugar mints and cigarettes and beer.

I used to hate this town but I'll stay because you're here.

And then all of Lana del Rey's "Video Games":

Swinging in the backyard

Pull up in your fast car, whistling my name

Open up a beer

And you say get over here and play a video game

I'm in his favorite sun dress

Watching me get undressed, take that body downtown

I say you the bestest

Lean in for a big kiss, put his favorite perfume on

Go play your video game

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you want to do

I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

Baby, now you do

Singing in the old bars

Swinging with the old stars

Living for the fame

Kissing in the blue dark

Playing pool and wild darts

Video games

He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of

Watching all our friends fall

In and out of Old Paul's

This is my idea of fun

Playing video games

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you want to do

I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

Baby, now you do

And then there was Taylor Swift's "Last Kiss":

I do remember the swing of your step

The life of the party, you're showing off again

And I roll my eyes and then

You pull me in

I'm not much for dancing

But for you, I did

Because I love your handshake, meeting my father

I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

How you'd kiss me when I was in the middle of sayin' somethin'

There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions

And I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don't know how to be something you miss

As she'd said, secret romantic. So sue her.

Sometimes she despaired of ever finding someone. You know, of finding someone who both interested her and would put up with her.

"Can I help you?" Ichigo looked around in surprise to find Karin standing there. She had her hair carefully curled by hand and up in a clip like Ichigo's, and even had the same eschewing of normality printed in block letters onto her sneakers. Karin really admired Ichigo - wanted to be just like her. It made Ichigo uncomfortable, because on one hand she did truly try to take care of her sisters and be a female presence for them, the kind of female presence she hadn't had when she was a preteen. (Ichigo's best friend Tatsuki's Mom had had to teach her about tampons.) She'd taught her sisters basic self defense, helped them with their homework, told them about being a woman, that kind of thing. But on the other hand, Ichigo didn't think of herself as a particularly good role model, or as a naturally heroic person - she was too cold and clinical, somewhat bizarre, hopelessly rebellious, essentially selfish and not good in the whole golden-shining-armor spotlight. The last time she'd tried to be the heroine, all it had done was kill her Mom. Ichigo wanted more than that for her sisters.

So she tried to encourage individual traits in Karin, like her caustic sense of humor, her friendships with several boys, and her love of soccer. Same with Yuzu's emotional freeness and artistic obsessions with dressing up and making dolls.

"Sure," she said, moving aside so Karin could join her. "Finish chopping up the carrots, okay? Be sure to curl your fingers so the ends don't get cut." She justified it to herself by saying Karin should know how to cook.

Yuzu said idly from the table, "Nee-chan, you have a new 'friend' haunting you."

Ichigo turned around to find the ghost of an older man in a suit and tie with greying hair and square glasses floating there. The same chain hung from his chest. A red stain was just above it.

"Were you shot?" was the first thing Ichigo asked bluntly.

"Ooh, sounds juicy already!" said Yuzu enthusiastically.

"Damn, I wish I could see as well as you," Karin muttered. All Karin and Yuzu saw and heard when a ghost appeared were a blur and a faint buzzing sound, like that of a fly. They couldn't even make out distinct words.

For Ichigo, the only differences between the living and the dead were the purposeful ones.

"A - a business partner shot me. I got involved with the yakuza," the businessman admitted. To his credit, he looked ashamed of himself. The yakuza were some of the most terrifying gangsters in the world. "The - the other ghosts said you could help me."

Ichigo blew out a breath, pushing strands of copper hair idly back behind her ears as she thought. "Yeah, I have a reputation for helping out the dead around here," she said slowly. More and more of them had been coming to her lately, actually. Said she had a good feel to her. Whatever that meant. "As far as I know, I'm the only one who can 'see' this well. So what does an immoral businessman want with me?"

"All - all ghosts disappear after a while. Some never form in the first place," said the man. "Where do those… souls... go?" The question was tentative. "I - I mean - is there a Hell?"

"You want to know if you're going to Hell," Ichigo realized, frowning.

The businessman swallowed, nodded.

"I'm sorry," said Ichigo at last. What else was there to say? "I don't know what happens to the souls that disappear. You want my opinion? I think we all just go back into the earth. You know, that our energy is absorbed into the fold. I don't think I believe there's anything after this, myself. I guess some people just absorb quicker than others."

Like Mom. Ichigo hadn't been sure how to feel about that. One part grief, one part relief. She'd been dreading having to face her Mom, knowing her actions were what had gotten her mother killed. But Mom never appeared. Ichigo had felt relief.

That was what she meant about being a terrible person.

No one knew outside her family; it was their guilty little secret, and Ichigo kept it that way. She was pretty sure that deep down, at least her father resented her, that her mother would resent her if she were still around, and she knew that she resented herself. She hoped her mother was at peace.

"So - oblivion?" the businessman was pondering.

"Oblivion," Ichigo agreed, nodding calmly. She'd come to terms with the idea long ago, and it no longer really frightened her. It just gave her more incentive to live her life as fully as she could while she still had the chance. In the immortal words of Elle King, "I'm gonna live my life like it's the last damn night, 'cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to Hell." Ichigo was certain of herself.

She didn't think Death had anything left to show her.

After dinner, which was of course drizzled liberally in hot sauce and accompanied by warm family around-the-table talking, joking, and chatting - the Kurosakis were nothing if not lively, rife with arguments, challenges, shouts, jokes, funny phrases, and occasionally actions that could qualify as minor intrafamilial violence - after all this, she headed up to her bedroom with a cup of soothing herbal tea. Shut the door so that the "15" pendant hanging on its front rattled. ("Ichigo" could also mean "fifteen" - literally, "one" and "five", "ichi" and "go.")

Ichigo's bedroom was white, painted in swirling geometric black designs. Crystals hung from little strings on the ceiling. Colorful origami cranes were set in corners. Paper lanterns hung from the edges of the ceiling, mingling with Christmas lights. Pieces of charcoal art hung on the walls. Any wallspace not taken up by art was taken up by wall to wall shelves of books, music, and movies - most of them Western.

Ichigo was fascinated by Western culture, and was considering some sort of future career involving international travel. Her shelves were a mass of different mediums: Stephen King sat next to Elle King, horror video games sat next to Gin Wigmore, urban exploration videos sat next to ZZ Ward, and Paramore had a whole shelf just to itself. So did Shakespeare. So did Jane Austen. So did Edgar Allan Poe. Then there were the Bronte sisters, and countless books of poetry, philosophy, and politics. Manga volumes and American comics were there as well: Kurosaki Ichigo, Professional Comic Book Nerd. iZombie had a place on her shelves, as did You, Me, and the Apocalypse; Pushing Up Daisies; and The Walking Dead. Her favorite horror movie was The Others with Nicole Kidman, which could not be explained without giving away the ending, though she did have a certain aesthetic appreciation for goth movies like Only Lovers Left Alive and Crimson Peak. Welcome to Night Vale was her favorite series of podcasts, and was similarly inexplicable, but basically combined sci-fi, horror, and small-town narratives. Amy Winehouse had some space on her shelves, as did Sylvia Plath and Lana Del Rey. (Ichigo had a thing for women and suicidal death.) Adele and Chantal Claret both had a home with her. Her sometimes music - music she wouldn't always admit she liked and had to be in the mood for - was 5 Seconds of Summer, Katy Perry, and Taylor Swift. Because come on. What girl did not at least secretly like Taylor Swift?

"Good Girls" was her all-time favorite 5 Seconds of Summer song; "Dark Horse" her favorite Katy Perry song; then there were "Video Games" and "Summertime Sadness" by Lana Del Rey, along with "This Is What Makes Us Girls", which was a great social commentary; "Daydreaming" by Paramore; "Real Girls" and "Bite Your Tongue" by Chantal Claret; and her all-time favorite slower, softer love songs were "Last Kiss" by Taylor Swift, "Hello" by Adele, "Wonder" by Lauren Aquilina, and "The Only Exception" by Paramore, while her favorite happier, bouncier love songs were "Honey Honey" by Chantal Claret, and "Stay Stay Stay" and "Mine" by Taylor Swift.

Taped to the back of her bedroom door was the poem "Phenomenal Woman" by Maya Angelou (who, like Adele, was a goddess):

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need for my care.

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

She had a dresser stuffed with clothes, its top littered with makeup bottles and brushes and perfumes, beside her bed. A black parasol for her Goth Lolita look was tilted beside one end of the dresser, a guitar leaned up against the other end (her friend Yasutora "Chad" Sado, a big half-Mexican guy who had a tattoo and was in a rock band, had taught her a lot about music), and a bunch of shoes were piled in front of it. (She had a closet, but it was another storage space in the house, filled with extra blankets, linens, sheets, and towels.) Her bed was covered with a checkered flannel quilt, the warm sheets flecked with crumbs and entirely cozy, the pillows extra-fluffed. A vast desk across the room held all her electronic equipment - iPhone, laptop, Kindle, iPad, iPod - along with highlighting pens and countless little post-it notes scribbled on in large letters. A collage of photographs of herself with her friends and family was taped to the wall above the desk. Jogging clothes hung over the back of the comfy desk chair - she often went on solitary runs in the mornings, before coming back to make green tea and breakfast (usually fermented soybeans, toast with marmalade, and fruit). A tall body length desk light, its stem-like stand looping in fantastic swirl patterns, hung above the desk, currently unused.

Another poem was taped above her desk, to remind her of school and what it was like. This was the poem, by Bob Hicok:

After working sixty hours again for what reason

The best job I had was moving a stone

from one side of the road to the other.

This required a permit which required

a bribe. The bribe took all my salary.

Yet because I hadn't finished the job

I had no salary, and to pay the bribe

I took a job moving the stone

the other way. Because the official

wanted his bribe, he gave me a permit

for the second job. When I pointed out

that the work would be best completed

if I did nothing, he complimented

my brain and wrote a letter

to my employer suggesting promotion

on stationery bearing the wings

of a raptor spread in flight

over a mountain smaller than the bird.

My boss, fearing my intelligence,

paid me to sleep on the sofa

and take lunch with the official

who required a bribe to keep anything

from being done. When I told my parents,

they wrote my brother to come home

from university to be slapped

on the back of the head. Dutifully,

he arrived and bowed to receive

his instruction, at which point

sense entered his body and he asked

what I could do by way of a job.

I pointed out there were stones

everywhere trying not to move,

all it took was a little gumption

to be the man who didn't move them.

It was harder to explain the intricacies

of not obtaining a permit to not

do this. Just yesterday he got up

at dawn and shaved, as if the lack

of hair on his face has anything

to do with the appearance of food

on an empty table.

Basically, the poem was about bureaucracy - how it worked and how it didn't work. She thought this particular poem would continue to be useful throughout most of her natural life. It was also a little like Welcome to Night Vale in its utter absurdity and comprehensible incomprehensibility.

A contradiction. Ichigo liked contradictions, especially dangerous ones. She was one herself.

Ichigo curled up on her bed and started her homework, opening up her laptop and putting on some Netflix in the background while she studied. This time the show was Pushing Up Daisies - her favorite feel-good TV show. Which, admittedly, was about a boy who could bring dead people back to life with a touch, then kill them again with another, and the dead girl he'd brought back to life that he'd fallen in love with and couldn't touch. But still. There was humor. And lots of cute little moments. And interesting lead female characters. And the boy was a pie-maker. That alone should count for something.

Mmm. Pie.

About halfway through her homework, Ichigo was distracted by something. This something took the form of a black swallowtail butterfly fluttering past her head.

She looked up in bewilderment. "What the actual fuck…?" Her window was closed.

And then a girl floated through her bedroom wall after the butterfly.

Ichigo's first thought? Oh, great, another ghost who wants help. Her second thought? Wait, no fucking way, that is not a ghost.

There was no chain hanging from this girl's chest. There was no obvious evidence of death - not even something subtle, like old age or chemotherapy. She wasn't transparent. And she was dressed funny - all decked out in black samurai gear edged in white, the kind that hadn't been seen since the feudal age of the Daimyo centuries ago. And she had a sword. Not a fake wooden one, but like an actual metal sword. Those were illegal, by the way.

So maybe she was some dangerous, delusional living-world freak.

But then, how could she float and move through walls? And… control butterflies?

And if she was simply a ghost… shouldn't she have passed on already? Her clothes said she should have.

Up until this point, Ichigo had been completely frozen, staring at the girl. The girl's sandals, arching around single-toed tabi socks, had landed on the floor and the girl was now looking around herself intently, as if searching for something. "It's close," Ichigo heard her murmur. She was pale and dark-haired, with violet eyes, and she was tiny bordering on anorexic. Like, it looked like she could use some food. Seriously.

Getting ahead of yourself there, Ichigo. Do not just feed the girl with the sword who can move through walls.

"Hey," she called to the girl, clearing her throat, "um, I can see you." To be fair, Ichigo was used to weird things happening around her. This was just another one. But the girl ignored her, still staring around her bedroom. Maybe she was deaf?

So Ichigo walked up to the girl, bent down to her level, and said loudly right into her face, "ARE YOU DEAF? I CAN SEE YOU."

And the black-robed girl nearly had a goddamn heart attack.

"M… me? You can see… me?" she asked dumbly, her eyes wide.

Ichigo smirked and flicked her in the forehead. "Uh - yeah. Surprise? Aww. Did the poor little dead girl think she was invisible?"

The girl scowled, flushing, her eyes narrowing. "You arrogant little fool -!"

"Who did you think I was talking to, anyway?" Ichigo asked curiously, straightening, hands on her hips.

"I… I thought you were an undiagnosed schizophrenic," said the girl, feigning dignity.

"Funny. That's what I thought you were."

The girl became indignant. "I am not an undiagnosed schizophrenic! I am a noble member of the house of Kuchiki!"

"See, the problem is, that's exactly what an undiagnosed schizophrenic would say. And this noble house of Kuchiki? Never heard of it." Ichigo smirked as the girl swelled, reddening. So she was easy to rile up.

How fun.

"So what exactly are you, anyway?" Ichigo added curiously. "And why are you here? Look, no offense, but I don't exactly like my private space being invaded." The Kuchiki girl grew more serious, nodding in response to her point.

"There is a reason why I was so surprised you could see me. Even humans with abnormal spiritual powers usually cannot see me. I am on a higher level than what you would call a ghost.

"I am a Shinigami."

Shinigami. God of Death.

There was a point beyond anger, beyond reason, when the emptiness just gnawed at you. The hunger. Always the hunger for more.

The Hollow feasted into the dead girl's corpse, sinking his nose and teeth into her skin, blood, muscle, bone. He sucked away at more and more of that delicious, electric energy. Two souls so far had been killed and eaten, were being absorbed, but the ghost of the old man with the glasses was long gone. This girl was his current meal. There was only one problem.

These souls were appetizers. It was like giving a starving man a cracker. They just didn't have enough energy. This soul was just like the last. This ghost girl, with her pigtails, she was not who he was looking for. This ghost had touched who he was looking for. But she was not it.

He lifted his head and sniffed the air.

"It's near," he whispered in realization. "All that spirit energy. It's right nearby."

And then the Hollow was gone. A monster had come, a monster had killed, a monster had left.

Countless humans passed by, laughing in the late-night brightly-lit streets, unnoticing.

Ichigo decided to entertain this girl's idea. If it was true, she did not know as much as she'd thought she had about death, and this needed to be rectified immediately. If it wasn't true… well, she was curious to see just how elaborate this delusion was.

"You're a Shinigami," she said skeptically. "So… I've always been curious… when they're not out reaping souls… what do Shinigami do, exactly?" Shinigami were like the Japanese version of the West's Grim Reaper. Supposedly, they came for dead souls. In living world culture, no matter what they were called, they were frightening emblems of death itself, always black-cloaked, eerie beings, silent as the graves they haunted. Seeing one only meant one thing - that your life was over. So the idea of one lazing on a beach with some suntan lotion was hilarious.

Kuchiki blinked, surprised by the question. "Well, it depends on the Shinigami," she said uncertainly. "I, for example, like drawing. And classical music. I enjoy climbing to high places, such as in rock and tree climbing. And I like bunnies."

"You like bunnies?"

"They're cute!" said Kuchiki defensively.

"Hey, I'm not judging. Do you have a pet bunny?"

"Sadly… no. I do not think my older brother would take kindly to the suggestion. It would be below my station." Kuchiki looked a bit despondent at this. "He is the head of the family. He must care about these things."

"You should get one anyway."

"Clearly, you have never met my brother."

"I'd get one anyway."

"I'm sure you would," said Kuchiki dryly. And to a certain extent, she meant it. "Now -"

"Wait. I have more questions."

Kuchiki seemed impatient, but she said, "Okay. Fire away."

"What do Shinigami do on the job? And where do they live?" Ichigo asked intently.

"Shinigami have two principal duties," explained Kuchiki. "To destroy evil soul monsters called Hollows - which humans also cannot see - and to help Plus souls, what you call ghosts, pass on to the next life, with a ritual called Konso. The next life is where we live. It is called the Soul Society."

"Do all dead souls become… Plus souls? How do you destroy Hollows? What happens to souls who die in the Soul Society?"

"Only the Plus souls with a tie to the living world become ghosts. Our job is to break their tie to the living world. We destroy Hollows with our zanpakutoh," she indicated to her sword, "and with special spells called kido - high level incantations only a Shinigami can cast."

"What can the spells do?"

"Bind, attack, shield and defend, and heal. And as for souls who die in the Soul Society… well, first, aging is slowed down in the Soul Society. Ten years for every one of yours. And only souls with spirit energy even need food. But once a soul does die in the Soul Society, it is reincarnated in the land of the living."

"Do you have to have spirit energy to be a Shinigami?"

"Yes. We are usually recruited from the masses, though the Soul Society born nobility are born to spirit energy naturally."

"Are all souls born in Soul Society considered nobility?"

"No. You have to be of an established noble family with spiritual presence," said Kuchiki firmly.

"And how do you Shinigami decide who destroys what Hollows, or sends on what Plus souls?"

"We each have missions, are assigned sectors to guard for a certain period of time - in Soul Society and in the living world both, because Hollows attack Soul Society too. They live in the space between realms, a desert place called Hueco Mundo."

"Why are Hollows so evil?"

"They have a constant emptiness inside them. They eat souls to feed this emptiness."

So like vampires. "If a Hollow is destroyed, are the souls it ate released?"

"Into the Soul Society, yes. Very good," said Kuchiki, pleased.

"What is the Soul Society like?" Ichigo asked hungrily.

"It is a very good place. The commoner's grounds are a series of small villages. You would call them old fashioned… as I've said, we age much slower there." That explained the bizarre clothing. "Then there is a vast city in the center where the nobles and Shinigami live. The Soul Society is ruled by a council called Central 46, which regulates Shinigami and provisional spirit law. The Soul Society is much slower paced, full of nature and usually very peaceful. Ten to one it's better than the living world," said Kuchiki proudly.

"So… the Soul Society seems to have taken on Eastern culture… does that harken back to Ancient China being one of the oldest and first complex living world civilizations? Like, was there a war that decided this, Mayans vs Chinese, or…?" Ichigo was curious.

Kuchiki looked completely bewildered, like she had no idea what Ichigo meant. "What is… China?"

"It's… the country… near… this one?" Ichigo was now the one who was confused.

"Oh, you mean Region 45! The big one!" said Kuchiki brightly.

"Yeah, you know what? Never mind," Ichigo decided. "Next question. How do you get all those people from all those different countries to come together at once?"

"Well, it helps that all languages become one language in the Soul Society," Kuchiki explained. "Everyone thinks everyone else is speaking their language."

"Is there a Hell?" Ichigo asked next.

"Yes. Evil souls are sent there."

"How do you define evil?"

"Evil is one who has done dark things. Such as murder, or rape."

"And what was that black butterfly?"

"That was a Hell butterfly. Not actually related to Hell, funny enough. They relay messages, guide Plus souls on to the Soul Society - they do all sorts of useful things on command."

"So why haven't I ever seen a Shinigami or a Hollow before, then?" Ichigo challenged. Everything else fit. The souls never appearing. The souls disappearing.

"As I said, you have to be of a certain spiritual energy level to see us. Your powers have grown as you've gotten older, yes?"

"... Yeah," Ichigo admitted at last, thoughtfully. "They have."

"Exactly," said Kuchiki neatly, pleased. "That would explain it."

"So you're on a mission now? This is your sector?"

"Correct. I was searching for a source of huge spiritual presence, and then I was distracted by a Hollow alert, so I was chasing down the Hollow and then when I entered this room - which is very close to the spiritual presence - the Hollow suddenly went off my sensing radar. It's very peculiar. Like some force is obstructing my senses. That's why I'm in your room."

"And I can see you because I have the power that makes dead people Shinigami?"

"Yes, quite a lot of it. I have never even heard of a human who can see Shinigami before."

"So that could be why more and more ghosts keep finding me as I get older and older."

"Yes, it's probably a growth spurt of your spirit energy."

"Okay… prove it to me," said Ichigo firmly, crossing her arms.

Kuchiki seemed caught off guard. "... What?"

"If you have all these amazing powers… Show me some." This would be the deciding factor for Ichigo. She didn't believe in what she couldn't experience. She wasn't one of those 'blind faith' sorts of people. Con artists, fake psychics, magic, and stupid reality TV shows were not her forte, and neither, really, was religion.

"You see that I am different, yet you do not believe in me?" Kuchiki asked, both disbelieving and scathing.

"I want proof," Ichigo repeated stubbornly, lifting her chin defiantly.

Kuchiki's eyes narrowed. Then she suddenly unsheathed her sword, reached out, and made a little slice in Ichigo's arm. Ichigo winced, there was a moment of pain - "How can you do that?" she asked wonderingly. "Plus souls can't touch living things."

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" Kuchiki asked in amusement. ("No," said Ichigo.) "It's all about how much spirit energy you have. The more you have, the more you can affect the living world around you. Now shush and watch me work."

Then Kuchiki put her hand over the cut in a flash of electric blue and the cut was miraculously gone. Just like that - zip. As if it had never been. Ichigo stared.

For the first time, Kuchiki smiled. "You see? Healing kido. A normal Plus spirit couldn't do that. Kido is one of my favorite parts of being a Shinigami."

The moment of peace was interrupted by a sudden roar. A horrible, piercing, screaming howl of pain met Ichigo's ears, and she looked up, her face white.

"What is it?" Kuchiki tensed, half-standing, suddenly serious, immediately going for her zanpakutoh.

"Can you hear that?" Ichigo's voice was shaking, and she hated it. "That horrible, piercing howl? It's coming from outside."

Kuchiki paused, listening. "I hear nothi -" she began. And then she heard it. The howling cry of a Hollow.

"That's it!" she hissed, whirling in that direction. "That's the Hollow!" But her mind was full of confusion. It was like she was hearing the howl through some unseen filter. She couldn't feel the Hollow's presence at all. And how could… how could some mere human have heard the howl before she herself sensed it?

Then there was a crash that shook the floor below, and a high-pitched female scream. The Hollow was attacking this house.

"That was Yuzu!" Kuchiki heard from behind her, and then the human girl had rushed past her down the stairs and into the living room. Cursing, Kuchiki ran after her. The minute the human girl had left, the force obstructing Kuchiki's senses had dropped, like a stopper being pulled out of a bottle of wine, and the Hollow's spirit energy had hit her in full force.

Kuchiki Rukia had just realized what was going on.

And if she was right, that human girl was in much more danger than her family.

Ichigo jumped the stairs two at a time, leaped onto the landing, hurtled into the living room and kitchen. A wide hole had been made in the wall to the outside, and a great monster was hunched there. Far from looking like a vampire, it was a huge, hunching, hulking beast with big hands and long, grabbing fingers, made of colors black, white, and grey. Its face was indeed spirit-like, in the yokai monster sense, a white mask covered in black markings with leering skull teeth. Behind the eyeholes in the mask, there was nothing - nothing but a faint, terrifying light of sentience - a mask with no person behind it.

Ichigo stood frozen in fear for a moment, and then it lashed out at her father. His back exploded in a shower of blood and he fell, his face pale and uncomprehending - Karin and Yuzu screamed - the monster went for them - and fury blocked out Ichigo's terror. She sprinted forward and pushed her sisters out of the way just in time, felt the Hollow's fingers close around her instead. She was lifted out of the house and up high above the street, her feet dangling.

"Nee-chan!" Yuzu and Karin shouted in fear. Ichigo wasn't sure they could even see what was attacking them.

"Let me go, you stupid, fish-faced freak!" she shouted, kicking ineffectively at the Hollow's hand. Then it opened its mouth to swallow her whole - she saw its teeth, the darkness of its throat, felt its putrid blood-stained breath - she froze in fear - "Karin, Yuzu, run!" she screamed, unable to look away - her last act, she thought -

And then her eyes were covered by the shink of a sword and a flash of black cloth.

Kuchiki had knocked out her screaming little sisters and now leaped forward, cutting off the Hollow's arm holding Ichigo and grabbing Ichigo by the collar as she fell. She set her gently down on the ground, stood in front of her with her sword raised, as the Hollow retreated, writhing and howling in pain.

"Now I understand," said Kuchiki softly.

"What do you mean?" Ichigo asked, shaken, lying there behind her.

"The Hollow attacked your father, but did not immediately kill him or go to eat him. Why?"

Ichigo paused. That was actually a damn good question. If Hollows attacked people to eat their souls… why hadn't the Hollow eaten her Dad before turning to her and her sisters? Why hadn't she watched her own father be devoured? "I don't know," she admitted.

"Because it was looking for something else. Or rather, someone else. Hollows will eat all souls, that is true, but they prefer souls with high spirit energy. When possible, they always attack prey opportunistically, prey that will be as filling and juicy as possible.

"Prey like you.

"You, human girl, have more spiritual power than anyone else I have ever heard of. You, as a living human, can see and touch Shinigami and Hollows. And I have realized - the spiritual presence I was sensing was you. You were the source, your bedroom was. Your spiritual presence spreads out so far around you, I felt it from all the way on the other side of your district. The closer I got into the thick of it, the center of the cloud of spirit energy, the harder it was to sense anything. But the minute you moved away from me even a little bit, I could sense better again. And you, you heard the Hollow before me. Because your power, which was blocking me out, gave even your untrained soul better ears than I have.

"The thing obstructing my senses was you.

"And, most likely, the Hollow is attacking your home, and the people you know, because it is looking for you. It is attacking people you touch, people you leave your soul's signature on. You have become so strong that Hollows not even in your area are instinctively seeking you out. You leave such a strong trace that they can sense you even in the people who are not you."

Ichigo paused. "... And this will continue happening?" she asked quietly. "More Hollows will come, and they will continue attacking the ones I love, as long as I am around?"

Kuchiki winced. "... Yes," she admitted.

And then Kuchiki Rukia felt a blow to the back of her head and she was knocked out. She realized too late that she had begun trusting this human girl who would risk her life pushing her sisters out of the way of harm, who would ask such intelligent, thoughtful questions about a world she had never even heard of before. Trust.

A dangerous thing for a Shinigami.

Ichigo knew what she had to do. It was the most cliched line in all of action history, but in this case it was true. She was about to fix this problem. And what she was about to do, no one else could do, or would do, except her.

She looked fondly once more on her home, her unconscious sisters, her bleeding father who Kuchiki had said was not dead, even at Kuchiki herself. She gave one thought to her friends at school, another thought to her friends in karate and kendo clubs with Tatsuki, another to her friends in book club with Ryou, another to her friends in Gay-Straight Alliance and Feminist Club with Chizuru, and another to her friends in the Harajuku district. They were all in danger. But she could save them - save them from herself.

If Ichigo had her way, no one had to die tonight except her.

There was no hope for her. She was as good as dead. She had no Shinigami powers, and supposedly nothing else worked against a Hollow. So the Hollows would continue stalking her, hunting her down through her friends and family, until one finally killed her. She could not count on the Shinigami to always be around.

So, she thought, take out the middle man. Just let it kill her before it killed anyone she cared about.

But she wasn't stupid. If she stayed here and let it eat her, it would just eat Kuchiki and her family afterward. Hollows were plagued by constant emptiness, right? But if she led it to an abandoned place far away and then let it eat her… then supposedly it would go after anyone equally.

But just in case, she should probably try to kill it.

And she kind of liked that idea. That she could die killing it. Maybe she could even be released into the Soul Society that way, and release other souls besides herself. And if she thought that through her actions she was atoning for that one horrible thing she had done to her mother - well, no one had to know that except herself.

Of course, she faced the possibility that she would wound it and not kill it. In that case, until the Hollow was destroyed by a Shinigami like Kuchiki, she faced dark oblivion. But oblivion was what she'd always planned for anyway. So death at the hands of the Hollow didn't bother her as much as it might have other people, though she wasn't looking forward to the pain.

So she ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and then ran outside to stand in front of the Hollow in a strong wide-legged stance. Her face was hard, her eyes stony pieces of flint, fiery and determined.

"Hey, asshole!" she shouted to the Hollow. "You want my soul?!" The Hollow, which had recovered at least somewhat by this point - its arm was regrowing - snarled, roaring. She raised her arms. "Then come and get it!"

And she turned and ran.

The Hollow followed her.

Ichigo was a good runner. She'd always prided herself on that. She could sprint, and tonight, being chased, she sprinted faster than she ever had before. There was a fleeting kind of triumph, she thought, to the way she always ran just that much faster than the snarling Hollow - though maybe that was just the adrenaline talking. She ran through darkened streets, passed by houses standing in rows on either side of her like silent sentinels, until she finally made it into an empty black park near an abandoned housing unit. Skeletal tree branches lifted long tendrils up to the sky as if in a kind of prayer, the leaves obscured by darkness. She stopped in a space between two trees. Turned around.

She got into a stance and held the knife before her, scowling firmly. And she waited. Unable to speak, breathing hard.

The Hollow paused. Then charged toward her, howling.

She looked into the teeth, felt the putrid breath once more, and tried to position the knife so that it would go right for the Hollow's center. This thought grounded her. Distracted her from her overriding fear.

Ichigo, for the second time that night, was prepared to die.

Kuchiki woke up, her head pounding, only to find the human girl and the Hollow gone. Gasping and cursing, she looked up and around wildly - she was still alive by a dead person's standards, still a Shinigami, and the human girl was running away, the Hollow following her, a knife glinting in her hand.

That idiot.

An honor sacrifice.

Kuchiki jumped to her feet and ran after the Hollow and the girl. She arrived just in time to see the Hollow snarl and fly at the girl, who had stilled, the glinting moonlit knife in her hand poised at the readiness -

And Kuchiki Rukia also ran faster than she ever had in her life. And for a Shinigami, that was saying something.

Because for a moment, she was there in the forest again, watching Shiba Kaien-dono die at the hands of the Hollow; for a moment, she was there at the house again, dumping his dead body on his horrified sister Shiba Kuukaku's doorstep; Kuukaku… who looked just like this random human girl.

Kuchiki Rukia couldn't save Kaien-dono, but perhaps, for a moment, wildly, she thought she could atone by saving his family.

And for the second time, Ichigo's vision was covered in the shink of a sword and a flash of black cloth.

Kuchiki had run in front of her and taken the attack for her. The Hollow's teeth crunched around her small frame, her sword poking out through the top of its mouth in a glint of silver. It wasn't dead, but it was severely wounded. It spat her out like a bad piece of meat and retreated again, writhing and howling in pain.

"You… idiot…" Kuchiki panted from the ground, bleeding everywhere, her face deathly white and her lips blue.

"I was doing the only intelligent thing!" said Ichigo fiercely. "Damnit, Shinigami girl! You should've let me die!"

"You wanted to save your family and friends."

"Yes." Duh.

"There is one other way you could do that." Kuchiki was speaking quickly now.

"And that is?"

"You could become a Shinigami."

It took a while, for the words to hit her. "But I'm not dead," Ichigo pointed out at last uncertainly.

"If I pierce the tip of my zanpakutoh through your heart, I can temporarily gift some of my powers to you," said Kuchiki seriously from the ground. "I am too badly injured to fight it myself, but you…" She sounded hopeful. Then she winced. "There is a high probability it will work, since you have so much spirit energy, but if it doesn't you will die. But there is no other way. No time to ponder it. Make your decision now."

Ichigo paused. "So let me get this straight," she said. "I could either face oblivion at the mouth of a Hollow, let a bunch of my friends and family get killed and then face oblivion at the mouth of a Hollow… or I could take the option where I either save everybody or get sent to the Soul Society?" Ichigo grinned viciously. "And you call that a choice? Hell yeah I'm taking option three!"

Kuchiki smiled, warm respect filling her.

"Give me the zanpakutoh, Shinigami girl." Ichigo reached out her hand. "We'll try your plan."

"Not 'Shinigami girl'," said Kuchiki quietly. "My name is Kuchiki Rukia. Rukia. You can call me by my given name." For a noble, this was an important admittance - even for one as unconventional as Rukia was.

The human girl smiled. "Kurosaki Ichigo," she said in return. "And you can call me Ichigo. Let's hope this isn't the last meeting for either of us, yeah?"

The Hollow had recovered again, was coming after them.

"Are you ready?" said Rukia solemnly from the ground, pointing the sword at Ichigo's heart.

Ichigo swallowed, nodded. Her palms were sweaty, her heart pumped. Somehow, the leadup was more awful than the idea itself. "Yes," she said.

And then the sword plunged through her heart and Ichigo felt a flash of electric energy inside her. It touched off some sort of spark, like her heart was made of wood, and then in a great explosion she felt something inside of her jump on top of Rukia's sword - pin it down - suck up more and more of that addictive energy even as the sword struggled - it felt so good she couldn't have stopped if she'd wanted to -

And then, in a vicious and unrefined burst, her power plunged over the barriers of her body and leaped into the ether, where her soul shifted, changed, reformed.

After that, everything was different. Irrevocable, though only Rukia knew it.

Rukia knelt in the cold night air, shivering, only her white under-robe and her wounds left on her. She was now no more than a simple dead soul, no longer a Shinigami. She'd planned only to offer Ichigo half her powers. She had not counted on Ichigo's soul being that powerful and unaccountably vicious. All of her power was now gone.

Just what was that girl? Where did the power inside her come from?

Rukia was left strangely shaken.

Ichigo's body was unconscious beside her, but her soul had reformed in front of the Hollow. The transfer had worked. And supposedly, Ichigo could now travel to and from her living body as a Shinigami, unfettered.

Watching the new Shinigami form, she saw Ichigo's eyes come back into focus, saw the power fade from her expression, saw that reassuring consciousness return. The same warm consciousness that had grinned and agreed to do something that might kill her just for the chance to save everybody.

Rukia definitely preferred that Ichigo over whatever horrible spirit was trapped inside her.

Ichigo looked good as a Shinigami, she had to admit. The black robes flowed around her curves, the hair pinned up at the back of her head with the bone and fang hairclip suited her new look, her earrings and makeup and perfume were still deadly and pristine, and sheathed at her back was a massive sword, larger than any Rukia had ever seen. The unformed sword, the asauchi, changed according to the power of its wielder. Never had Rukia seen one become so large on an untrained rookie.

Ichigo's increased confidence could also be seen. A deadly calm had come over her face.

Then in a burst of newly controlled speed she'd unsheathed her sword and flown at the Hollow, and began a wild, graceful, elegant dance around its blows. Never once was she hit. She'd been trained. She was good. It was mesmerizing to watch.

And then, in a few neat sword strokes, she had cut her zanpakutoh through the Hollow's limbs and then through its head and the Hollow disintegrated into thin air with one last screech as the souls inside it were freed.

Rukia stared in silent amazement as Ichigo turned to look at her… Then Ichigo's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

"Ichigo!" Rukia did not even recognize the horrified, fearful scream that issued from her lips. It was unbefitting of both a noble and a Shinigami. But Rukia was no longer technically either, and anyway, in her defense, it had been a weird night.

She crawled in pain over to Ichigo's Shinigami form, crying out the girl's name pitifully, unable to do anything else -

"Relax. Her soul's just adjusting to its new form. It's a natural process."

Rukia froze at the new voice - the new voice that could apparently hear hers. She whirled around to look.

A man was standing there, and he had a body but somehow she sensed great spirit energy inside him. He was looking right at her, his smile whimsical but his eyes cold and clinical. He had stubble around his chin, longish unkempt blond hair, wore a boat hat and clogs, had a long coat and carried a cane.

"Wh-who are you?" She tried to sound confident. Instead of helpless. Which she was.

"Urahara Kisuke, at your service." He tipped his hat politely.

Rukia felt fear clog her throat. Urahara Kisuke was a traitor, a former Captain-class Shinigami, exiled from the Soul Society for illegal experiments on other souls in the name of spirit energy research. That body must be his own creation. That cane must be his zanpakutoh. They never did manage to take it from him.

"S-stay back!" She began pulling herself backward along the ground. "Traitor!"

"Relax, relax." Urahara put up a hand. "Now I'm just a lowly underground Shinigami equipment black market salesman who happens to reside nearby."

Rukia's eyes narrowed. "Happens?"

"Okay. So, I'm interested in the girl behind you. Have been for a while. And I'm willing to help you out."

"So you can get to her?" Rukia asked in a hard voice.

"In a way," said Urahara enigmatically. "If you find that hard to believe…" His smile became icy. "Just… call me bored."

What could Rukia do? She couldn't go back to the Soul Society like this.

She closed her eyes in defeat. "I accept," she finally whispered helplessly.

Author's Notes: In saying not all souls born in Soul Society are considered nobility, I think I'm veering from established canon just a bit. But really. If every family who had a child got to be a noble, you'd have people shitting out kids left and right. It would be, like, the exact opposite of what China's one-child policy was trying to do. It doesn't make any sense. Everyone would be a noble.

Everything else is, as far as I know, Word of God canon.

I hope you don't mind me giving Ichigo such an interest in Western culture. That's fairly canonical as well. According to Word of God, canon Ichigo's favorite celebrities are Mike Ness and Al Pacino, and the person he most admires is William Shakespeare. He even calls Sado "Chad." Of course, it also helps if I know the music, movies, books, and TV interests I'm giving my character, haha.

Also, I'm just pretending this story exists in the modern day. That's what the manga and anime do.