Karakura General Hospital — Underground Facility
The underground complex beneath Karakura General Hospital was vast—far larger than anything one would expect beneath a place meant for healing. Towering metallic platforms rose at different heights, connected by narrow bridges and angular supports. Every edge was sharp and precise, every surface polished smooth, as if the entire structure had been engineered with ruthless efficiency in mind. Intense blue lights lined the walls and ceilings, bathing the chamber in a cold glow that reflected endlessly across steel beams, reinforced glass panels, and the glossy floor below. The air itself felt sterile and heavy, humming faintly with hidden machinery and spiritual pressure alike.
Standing atop one of the higher platforms was Uryū Ishida. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin, darkening the collar of his White shirt, yet his breathing remained steady. He wasn't exhausted—only recently had this so-called training begun. His posture was tense but disciplined, the stance of someone forcing their body to remember a strength it no longer possessed. His sharp eyes wandered briefly across the vast underground space before dropping downward to the man approaching on a lower platform.
Ryūken Ishida walked with unhurried steps.
He wore his usual pristine white suit, unwrinkled and immaculate, as if he had just stepped out of his office rather than into a subterranean training ground. His right hand rested casually in the pocket of his trousers, while his left held a silver Quincy bow as if it weighed nothing at all. Unlike Uryū, Ryūken showed no sign of exertion—no sweat, no tension, no indication that this was anything more than a mild diversion to him.
"When someone powerful stands before you," Ryūken said, his voice firm and cutting through the still air, "the very last thing you should do is avert your gaze, Uryū."
The words carried the sharp edge of a reprimand, aimed squarely at the few seconds of distraction his son had allowed himself.
Uryū narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on his father. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The distance between their platforms felt symbolic, a physical manifestation of the emotional gulf that had existed between them for years.
Ever since Ryūken had offered to restore his Quincy powers, Uryu had been at war with himself. He hated the idea of relying on his father—hated it deeply. Pride and resentment twisted together in his chest, urging him to handle things his own way, even if that meant remaining powerless. He had tried to accept those limitations, tried to believe that intelligence and resolve alone would be enough.
But deep down, Uryū was painfully aware of his limitations.
He had begun distancing himself from his friends, avoiding Ichigo and the others, isolating himself under the pretense of "figuring things out." In truth, he had been searching desperately for another path—any path—that didn't involve Ryūken. Days passed, and every attempt led nowhere. Frustration mounted, but his resolve held… until it shattered just days ago.
When Blanks had begun flooding Karakura Town, Uryū rushed to one of the affected areas, determined to do something, even without his powers. At first, relief washed over him when he saw Yato Yasakani cutting through the Blanks with overwhelming efficiency. For a brief moment, Uryū believed the situation was under control.
Then everything went wrong.
Yato was attacked from behind—ambushed by an unfamiliar Shinigami. The attack was sudden, brutal. In mere moments Yato was left gravely wounded, teetering on the edge of death. Uryū could do nothing but watch, powerless, as the situation spiraled further out of control. As if that weren't enough, Ichigo was defeated by the same Shinigami.
Uryū had stood there, helpless.
Watching.
Unable to act.
That was the moment it truly sank in.
If he had still possessed his Quincy powers… he could have changed everything.
He could have warned them. Fought alongside them. Prevented the outcome entirely.
The realization was bitter, humiliating, and inescapable.
And so, standing now in the cold blue light of the underground chamber, Uryū finally understood what his pride had nearly cost. Swallowing that pride had been one of the hardest things he had ever done—but in the end, he had made his choice.
Against every instinct screaming inside him, Uryū Ishida had accepted his father's offer.
Ryūken's voice cut cleanly through the chamber.
"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone smooth and unreadable. "Don't tell me you're already regretting accepting my proposal."
Uryū finally shifted his full attention back to him, adjusting his glasses slightly—a habitual motion, though his hands were steady.
"That's not the issue," Uryū replied evenly. His gaze sharpened. "What concerns me is whether this so-called training will truly restore my Quincy powers."
Ryūken's expression did not change. Not even slightly.
"You doubt me?" he asked, his voice controlled, almost clinical.
"I'm not convinced," Uryū answered honestly.
His eyes drifted briefly toward the surrounding walls and platforms. "This entire chamber is constructed from Reika Silver and reinforced Reika Glass. Every surface is saturated with Reiryoku designed to suppress and distort flow." His jaw tightened. "And all I've been doing is dodging your arrows."
Another arrow of condensed Reishi shot past him just then, grazing his sleeve and embedding itself into the reinforced wall behind him with a sharp metallic hum before dissolving into particles of light.
Frustration bled into his voice.
"If I keep repeating this, will I truly recover my Quincy abilities?!" he demanded, his composure finally cracking at the edges.
Ryūken remained utterly unmoved.
And that, more than anything, fueled Uryū's irritation.
Then—
In an instant, Ryūken vanished.
Uryū's pupils contracted.
Before he could react, his father appeared directly in front of him, closing the distance with overwhelming speed. Uryū felt the cold wall press against his back as Ryūken's right hand slammed against it beside his head, cornering him.
At the same time, Ryūken's left hand lifted his bow, its surface reflecting the blue lights above. A Quincy arrow materialized, condensing from the surrounding Reishi in a blinding flash.
The arrowhead hovered inches from Uryū's face.
Ryūken's expression remained calm. Severe. Absolute.
"Evidently," he replied, his voice as cold as the steel around them.
The arrow hummed with lethal intent.
"That is," he continued evenly, "if you survive long enough."
**
Yato Yasakani's House
For a few long seconds, the kitchen remained frozen in disbelief.
Yato was still standing near the doorway, one hand half-raised as if his Fullbring hadn't quite received the memo that reality had just bent itself in half. Senna, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease—like she hadn't just shattered several cosmic rules by existing inside his house and raiding his fridge.
"…You're really bad at stocking food," she added helpfully, peering back into the refrigerator as if expecting something to magically appear if she stared long enough.
Yato finally snapped out of it. "You— You're—" He stopped, rubbed his face hard with both hands, then tried again. "Okay. No. Hold on. Sit. Don't move."
Senna blinked. "Huh?"
Before she could protest, Yato was already moving, shutting the fridge with more force than necessary and guiding her toward the tiny kitchen table. It was barely big enough for two people, one of its legs wobbling slightly whenever someone leaned too hard against it.
"Just— sit. I'll make something," he muttered, more to ground himself than for her benefit.
Senna shrugged and dropped into the chair, spinning slightly on it before resting her elbows on the table. "If it's Cup Noodles again, I'm judging you."
"Don't complain," Yato shot back as he opened a cabinet. "You broke into my house."
"I knocked... spiritually," she replied cheerfully. "You just didn't hear it."
He chose to ignore that.
With limited options—and refusing to let her eat instant noodles again—Yato improvised. Rice went into the cooker. Eggs followed. He found a half-forgotten package of frozen vegetables shoved to the back of the freezer and decided that counted as effort.
Cheshire sat on top of the microwave, unusually quiet, its glowing eyes narrowed with interest rather than amusement.
Within a few minutes, the smell of warm rice and eggs filled the kitchen—simple, comforting, undeniably real.
Yato plated the food and set one dish in front of Senna. She leaned forward immediately, eyes lighting up.
"Oh, this looks way better than Cup Noodles." She grabbed the chopsticks without hesitation and took a bite. "Hey, you're actually good at this."
"…Thanks," Yato replied absently, sitting down across from her with his own plate.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ticking of the wall clock felt absurdly loud.
Yato stared at her.
She was the same.
The same ribbon.
The same careless posture.
'Is that really Senna...? Or some other version of the Shinenju?' Yato wondered, not knowing exactly how fate had been altered for Senna to be there.
His fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.
"…Senna," he said carefully, keeping his voice low, steady. "How are you here?"
She didn't look up. "You should really buy more groceries."
Yato blinked. "…What?"
She pointed her fork toward the fridge. "Normal people don't live off instant noodles, you know. At least get some meat or vegetables that aren't frozen."
"That's not—" He exhaled slowly. "That's not what I asked."
She hummed thoughtfully, then tilted her head. "Hey, do you have videogames?
"…Senna."
"No, wait—" she leaned forward, eyes curious. "Do you have one of those old ones? Like a Super Famicom? Or at least a PlayStation?"
Yato stared at her, disbelief mixing with something far more dangerous—hope.
"You're dodging the question... " he said quietly. "Again..."
She finally paused mid-bite.
For just a fraction of a second, something flickered behind her amber eyes. Not fear. Not sadness.
Distance.
Then it vanished.
"You're making that serious face again," she said in a calm voice, though with a playful tone. "It doesn't suit you. You're supposed to be the fun friend, not a copy of Ichigo."
'She remembers Ichigo… and she remembers me. Then it really is the same Senna…' Yato realized, the thought landing with a strange mix of relief and unease.
Senna had settled comfortably across from him, her elbows planted on the small, worn table, her chin resting in her hands. She studied him with open curiosity, her amber eyes warm and bright—far too gentle for how deliberately she continued to dodge the question hanging between them.
"…This rice is really good," she said instead, as if that alone could rewrite reality. She smiled, genuinely pleased. "You should cook like this more often."
Yato let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight. His gaze drifted up to the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks and stains he'd never bothered to fix.
Across from him, Senna's smile only widened—easy, familiar, painfully normal.
"I mean," she added, tilting her head, her tone teasing, "you could at least pretend to be happy that I'm here before hitting me with all the serious stuff." She clicked her tongue dramatically. "Wow… you've gotten boring. And it's only been, what? Two days?"
"…Let's just say I'm worried about a few things," Yato muttered, still staring upward, as if the ceiling might offer answers he wasn't ready to ask for.
Senna laughed softly, light and unbothered, the sound filling the small kitchen in a way that made it feel less empty. "Well, don't worry." She waved a hand dismissively. "At least not about me."
She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement, almost childlike in her enthusiasm. "I'm gonna be around for a loooong time now."
Yato's attention snapped back to her immediately.
"…What?"
"Not here," she clarified quickly, pointing vaguely around the kitchen. "I mean— not at your house, obviously." She grinned. "I'm talking about my new job."
Yato raised an eyebrow. "Job?"
"Yep."
He studied her in silence, trying to decide whether it was even worth asking. Every instinct told him that if he pressed too hard, she'd just dodge again.
As if reading his hesitation, Senna suddenly let out a mischievous laugh.
"Relax," she said, rising to her feet in one sudden, exaggerated motion, as if she were stepping onto a stage. One arm swept upward dramatically, her voice carrying a playful grandeur. "I'll tell you everything that happened."
Then she pointed straight at him, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But first—go get some popcorn!"
"I don't think I have any…" Yato replied flatly, not even bothering to check.
"Then go buy some!!" she fired back instantly, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying herself.
Yato let out a resigned sigh and pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He stood, shaking his head.
'Yeah…' he thought, glancing at her as though she might disappear the moment he looked away. 'Definitely the same Senna.'
A small chuckle escaped him despite himself—but it died halfway as a sudden shift in the air brushed against his senses.
A presence.
His gaze snapped back to Senna—and he stiffened.
Beside her hovered a Blank.
Its pale, indistinct form lingered close, pressing itself against her side, gently bumping its head against her arm again and again like a stray animal begging for affection.
"…Ah. So you found me already. How annoying," Senna muttered, sounding more inconvenienced than alarmed.
Yato reacted on instinct.
His hands moved, thin red threads blooming into existence between his fingers, his body already shifting into a defensive stance. His eyes locked onto the Blank, sharp and ready.
Before he could act, Senna extended her hand toward him.
"Wait," she said calmly. "It's fine. They won't hurt anyone." She glanced at the spirit and sighed. "Just… give me a minute, okay?"
As she spoke, she raised her index finger and pressed it lightly against her forehead.
Yato froze.
That gesture—he recognized it. Senna always did that when she was thinking hard, when she was trying to remember something important. But this time, her expression wasn't strained or confused. It was focused. Certain.
"…Found it," Senna murmured after a few seconds.
She slowly pulled her finger away from her forehead.
Clinging to the tip of her finger was a thin, silvery thread—brilliant, luminous, gently shimmering as if alive. It looked as though she had drawn it directly out of her own mind.
Yato stared, eyes widening slightly.
He had never seen Senna do anything like that before.
With a careful, almost reverent motion, Senna leaned forward and brought her index finger to the Blank's head, touching the small, pin-shaped crown with the same silver energy.
The moment contact was made, a soft glow enveloped the spirit.
Light spread across its form, gentle and warm, much like the glow that surrounded a Plus during a Konsō.
The Blank's distorted shape began to shift—smoothing, reshaping—until it resolved into the spirit of a woman.
She looked peaceful.
The woman turned toward Senna, smiling softly. She didn't speak, but gratitude was clear in her eyes. Then, like mist carried away by a breeze, she faded from sight.
The room fell quiet again.
Yato lowered his hands slowly, the red threads dissolving into nothing as he stared at Senna—unease, awe, and a dozen unspoken questions twisting in his chest.
"…Senna," he said at last, his voice low, measured, as if one wrong inflection might shatter her again. "What… was that?"
She turned toward him slowly, the lingering glow of the silver thread fading from her fingertips. For the first time since he'd walked into the kitchen, her expression wasn't playful. It wasn't evasive, either.
It was honest.
She exhaled softly and leaned back against the table, palms resting behind her for support. "Okay," she said. "I guess this is the part where I stop dodging, huh?"
Yato didn't answer. He just watched her, eyes sharp, heart pounding.
"When I disappeared," Senna continued, her tone calm but thoughtful, "I didn't… fade into nothing. It wasn't like falling asleep." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "I woke up."
Yato's fingers curled slightly at his sides.
"I was back in the Valley of Screams," she said.
The words landed with weight.
"But not the one you saw," Senna added quickly, shaking her head. "That Valley… well… that one we fought in… it was destroyed. Completely. But…" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "That wasn't the only one."
"Well... I already knew that... I mean, the Valley of Screams consists of small dimensions formed by souls without memories, in this case, the Blanks," Yato's mind raced, Cheshire's earlier words echoing unpleasantly in the back of his skull "And you came back… how?" he asked.
Senna glanced down at her hands.
"That's the thing," she said quietly. "This time… I knew what I was... I remembered what I am," she said plainly. "The Shinenju." She said simply. No hesitation. No fear. "A being made from accumulated memories of souls that lost their way. I always was." She looked up again, her eyes steady. "Before, though… that's all I was."
Yato stiffened.
She tapped her chest lightly with her fingertips.
"But now… it feels different."
Yato swallowed. "Different how?"
Senna searched for the right words. "It's like…" She frowned, then snapped her fingers softly. "Like a job."
Senna tilted her head slightly, thoughtful, then gave a crooked little smile — that typical smile of hers, somewhere between carefree and strangely wise.
"Yep. A job… I mean… A fleeting phenomenon is kind of… rude for me, you know?" she said, shrugging. "It sounds like I was just a cosmic accident, waiting for the next strong wind to blow me away for good."
Yato didn't reply. He only watched her, attentive to every microexpression.
She went on, now more relaxed, almost as if explaining something trivial. "Before, I existed because I had to exist. Memories piled up, pushed me forward, and I just… kept going. Too much noise. Too many emotions. All mixed together." She twirled her wrist in the air, as if shuffling invisible cards. "I felt things that weren't mine and didn't know where I began or ended."
Senna then placed her hand over her chest.
"But now… it's different. I still have those memories. Many of them." She tapped lightly at her temple. "Whole lives, fragments, feelings that aren't mine — but they don't hurt anymore. They don't confuse me." Her eyes glimmered softly. "It's like… I've learned how to organize it all. To store it. To return it when needed."
Yato's gaze inevitably dropped to the spot where the Blank had been moments earlier.
"What you just did…" he murmured.
"That was all," Senna answered simply. "That Blank didn't need to wander anymore. Her memories were trapped with me. I just… gave back what was hers." She made a small gesture with her fingers, as if releasing something delicate into the air. "After that, the rest flows on its own. The cycle of reincarnation knows what to do."
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
Yato ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply. "So you're no longer… unstable."
"No," she replied without hesitation. "I don't feel like something about to vanish anymore." A gentler smile touched her lips. "I feel… anchored to something... As if I finally have weight. As if the world recognizes me again."
Something tightened in his chest.
"…Then why are you here?" Yato asked, his voice low, cautious. "In my house."
Senna opened her mouth — then closed it again.
"Hm." She glanced away, pretending to examine the kitchen. "You really should change that lightbulb. It flickers."
"Senna."
"Oh! Before that," she said too quickly, raising a finger. "I stopped somewhere else."
Yato frowned. "Where?"
She finally met his eyes. "At the cemetery."
His heart gave a dry jolt.
"I went to the gravestone," Senna continued, her voice lower now, though still light. "That one." She gestured vaguely, as if she could see it from there. "Seeing my name there… it warmed my heart in a strange way."
Yato felt his throat tighten.
"And I knew," she added, tilting her head, her eyes fixed on him with almost sharp attention. "I felt the remnants." A small, almost teasing smile appeared. "It was you."
The air seemed to grow heavier.
"Why?" Senna asked softly. There was no accusation in her voice — only genuine curiosity. "Why did you do that for me?"
Yato sighed, his gaze drifting away as if the answer were written somewhere on the wall.
"Well…" he said after a moment, shrugging as though it were nothing. "I just wanted your last memories to be good ones, at least."
For a heartbeat, Senna only stared at him.
Then she smiled.
It wasn't teasing this time, nor overly cheerful. It was warm. Grateful.
"The real reason I'm here," she said gently, "is to thank you."
"Oh?" Yato scoffed, forcing a lighter tone. "By breaking into my house and eating my food?"
"I wasn't about to sit outside and let people think I was some kind of lunatic," she laughed freely, the sound filling the small kitchen. "But seriously…" Her expression softened again. "I came to give something back to you."
Yato raised an eyebrow, his mind instantly going to the red ribbon he had created for her—the one that had disappeared along with her. Before he could say anything, Senna lifted her hand and pressed her index finger to her forehead once more.
A familiar motion.
A soft glow emerged.
When she pulled her finger away, another thread of silvery light shimmered at its tip, delicate and radiant, like moonlight spun into string.
Yato glanced around instinctively, expecting another Blank to appear—but the room was empty. Quiet. That only made his unease deepen.
"…What's that for?" he asked cautiously.
Senna hesitated, her smile faltering just a little. For the first time since she'd appeared, she seemed unsure—like she wasn't certain whether what she was about to say would hurt or heal.
"Your memories," she said at last. "To be more precise… the memories of the real Yato Yasakani."
Yato froze.
The world seemed to drop away beneath his feet.
He said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the silver light balanced on her fingertip, his face drained of color.
"After I came back…" Senna continued carefully, "I realized something through Yato Yasakani's memories. You aren't really him."
She immediately waved her hands, flustered. "I don't mean that in a bad way! I'm not judging you or blaming you for anything—whatever happened, I know it wasn't your choice, and you didn't have control over it, and—"
She stopped herself, then smiled wide and bright, the Senna he knew so well.
"I'm your friend," she said simply. "You're the one I met. You're the one who mattered to me." Her voice lowered, losing its playful lilt. "And you're the one who saved me."
Between them, the slender thread of silver light continued to glow, hovering at the tip of Senna's finger. It was silent. Patient. As if it were waiting for Yato to make a choice only he could make.
Yato stared at that shimmering strand for a long time.
Too long.
His thoughts spiraled back to the Valley of Screams—to the moment he had hesitated, to the fear that had gnawed at him. Back then, he had seriously considered letting Senna disappear. Not out of cruelty, but out of fear. Fear that someone—anyone—might use her to peer into the memories of Yato Yasakani. Fear that the truth about who he was now would be exposed.
And yet, despite all that… he hadn't let her go.
Now she stood right in front of him, alive, real, offering to return the memories of the original Yato as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Logic whispered that accepting them would be safer.
Smarter.
But the weight of that choice pressed heavily on his chest.
He didn't want to carry two lifetimes inside his head. He didn't know what it would do to him—to his sense of self. What if the memories tangled together? What if he lost pieces of his own past? Or worse—what if he started caring too much about a life that wasn't truly his?
Yato exhaled slowly.
"Thanks, Senna… really," he said at last. "But I don't want those memories."
She blinked.
"The real Yato is a Blank now, right?" he continued, scratching the back of his neck, his tone awkward but sincere. "Give them back to him. Let him move on to Soul Society."
He hesitated, then added quietly, "I don't even know if it's my fault that he ended up like that… and I don't want to take anything else away from him. I've already got my own past. My own parents. Carrying their memories is enough for me."
He offered her a small, crooked smile.
Senna's eyes widened.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her face twisting into a comically confused expression. "Then who do you think you are right now?" she suddenly asked, one eyebrow lifting.
Yato looked up at the ceiling, grimacing
He hated these kinds of questions.
"…Well," he said after a moment, shrugging, "right now, I'm Yato Yasakani. Just… a different one."
He lowered his gaze again. "I was someone else before I came here. I had another life, another name, another family. But this is who people know me as now. So I'll keep being him."
Senna studied him in silence for several seconds.
Then, without another word, she pressed her index finger back to her forehead. The silver thread dissolved into light and vanished as she carefully sealed the memories away once more.
She smiled faintly and sighed.
"Yeah," she murmured. "Definitely a different Yato… it's even showing physically."
Yato frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes, for example," Senna said casually. "They used to be black."
She stepped closer—far too close—peering into his face with open curiosity.
"But now…" she leaned in, squinting slightly. "They look brown… dark brown. And your hair, too. It's a bit different."
Yato flinched and leaned back instinctively, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between them. Without thinking, he ran his right hand through his hair.
And froze.
There it was.
A subtle change—but undeniable. His hair, Yato Yasakani's hair, had always been perfectly straight. Now, some strands curled ever so slightly around his fingers. He'd always assumed his messy appearance was just the result of never bothering to comb it properly.
But now…
Now he wasn't so sure.
Yato stared at the faint curl still looped around his fingers, holding it as though, if he tugged carefully enough, the strand itself might unravel the answer he was searching for.
'Why am I changing?'
The thought surfaced uninvited—heavy, persistent.
It wasn't just the hair.
It wasn't just his eyes.
It was something deeper. Subtler. As if the outline of who he was supposed to be had been quietly redrawn while he wasn't looking.
Had he always been changing… and only now begun to notice?
His chest tightened faintly.
"Well then." Senna's voice sliced cleanly through the spiral of his thoughts.
She straightened up and stepped back, lightly clapping her hands together as though concluding a brief inspection. "All done," she said, far too casually considering everything that had just transpired. "That's all I came to check."
Yato blinked, still half lost in his own head. "Check… what exactly?"
"The memories," she replied simply, tapping her forehead with her index finger. "You didn't want them. So there's nothing left for me to do here."
She pivoted lightly on her heels, almost playfully, her hair swaying behind her with the motion. "I think I'll go for a walk."
Yato frowned, trying to catch up. "A walk… where?"
Senna glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes calm but bright with quiet curiosity.
"Around the town," she said. "I've seen places before… but I never really looked at them. Since I'm here, I might as well explore properly."
He straightened slightly. "That's it? You came all the way here just to… visit and sightsee?"
With Senna, it was entirely possible.
And yet, it still felt strange.
She shrugged, utterly unconcerned.
"You're making it sound suspicious," she teased. "Places feel different when you actually walk through them. Memories are one thing. Presence is another."
Yato studied her carefully, searching for some hidden motive beneath her words.
There wasn't one.
Just a steady certainty that made pressing her feel strangely pointless.
Still—
"And what exactly are you planning to do while you're exploring?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice despite himself.
Her smile widened just slightly.
"Walk. Observe. Maybe get lost on purpose," she answered lightly.
She paused, her gaze drifting back to his face. Her eyes lingered there—on his eyes specifically—as if confirming something only she could see.
"Try not to change too much while I'm gone, okay?"
Before he could respond, she turned fully and began walking toward the door. Her footsteps were soft, almost inaudible against the floor.
Yato followed her with his eyes, unease and curiosity twisting together inside him.
"Wait," he called out. "Won't you wandering around attract Blanks?"
She lifted her hands and laced them casually behind her head without breaking stride.
"No," she replied easily. "I can control them now. That doesn't mean I'm going to start returning everyone's memories all at once, though."
She sighed lightly.
"It may not look like it, but having all these layered memories gave me a lot of information. Enough to understand that purifying too many souls at once can disrupt the balance of the world."
Yato raised an eyebrow. "I thought that only happened when too many Hollows were destroyed."
"The inverse applies too," she answered, glancing back at him more seriously now. "Think about it. Anything excessive destabilizes things. Total destruction or total purification—it doesn't matter."
Her expression shifted—quieter, heavier.
"I saw old memories. Of a powerful Hollow that attacked Soul Society many years ago. I don't know his name. I don't know what became of him. But I know this much…" Her voice lowered slightly. "He could evolve endlessly. To a point where if he were purified—or destroyed—the consequences would have been catastrophic."
She turned back toward the door.
The weight of her words lingered heavily in the air, settling into Yato's chest.
She opened the door, then glanced over her shoulder once more—her expression bright again, almost mischievous.
"Oh, and by the way," she added cheerfully, "you and Ichigo still owe me a ride on the Ferris wheel."
And with that, she stepped outside.
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned.
Yato lightly slapped his own cheek with his palm.
"Why do I never meet normal people…?" he muttered under his breath.
"You never met normal people in your old world either," came a lazy, amused voice, "so expecting that now—while you're living in a place drowning in spiritual mess—is a bit optimistic, don't you think?"
Yato's gaze shifted.
Cheshire was sprawled across the table as if he had materialized there purely for dramatic effect. One paw dangled off the edge, tail flicking idly, his grin wide and knowing. There was something perpetually entertained about him, as though Yato's entire existence were an ongoing show staged for his personal amusement.
Yato exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face before it drifted—almost unconsciously—back up to his hair.
His fingers caught again on the faint curl near his temple.
Changing…
He stared down at the strand wrapped loosely around his fingers.
He didn't know what unsettled him more—the fact that Senna had noticed so quickly… or that she hadn't looked surprised at all.
And then it struck him.
Curly hair.
Brown eyes.
Those had been his features before he ever arrived in this world.
Before everything had been rewritten.
His hand fell slightly, and his reflection in the darkened window caught his attention. The boy staring back at him was still Yato Yasakani—at least, that was the name he wore. But the details were shifting, subtly reverting.
"…You noticed too, didn't you?" Yato asked quietly.
Cheshire rolled onto his back dramatically, balancing lazily on the tabletop as though gravity were optional. "Oh, I noticed," he said with a grin that bordered on mischievous. "It's hard not to. You're blending."
"Blending?" Yato echoed.
"With yourself," Cheshire clarified, propping his chin up on one paw. "Or perhaps… un-blending. It depends on perspective."
Yato's brow furrowed.
"So what's causing it?" he pressed. "What's making my body change back?"
Cheshire's grin softened—not losing its sharpness, but gaining something more contemplative.
"You've been tugging at the fabric of this world since the moment you arrived," he said lightly. "A body that isn't yours. A name that wasn't originally yours. A life stitched together over something that already existed." He tilted his head. "You didn't think there'd be side effects?"
Yato's jaw tightened.
"I didn't exactly get a manual," he muttered.
"No one ever does," Cheshire replied cheerfully.
Yato turned toward the window fully now, studying his reflection more intently. The brown tint in his eyes was subtle—but undeniably there when the light hit them right. The slight curl in his hair no longer felt accidental.
It felt deliberate.
Like something correcting itself.
'So what's causing this…?' he wondered silently.