The lightning bound around Hiro like a net crackling and pulsing, each jolt making the parasite twitch and wheeze. Rukia stood beside me, still trying to regulate her breathing, blood trailing down her leg. She kept insisting she was fine, but her eyes were raw, strained. I stayed close—not touching her, but ready if she needed me.
She had mentioned knowing some healing kido, but I had never seen it before.
That's when the air shifted.
Pressure hit like a sledgehammer wrapped in heat.
A heartbeat later, someone slammed into the street in a blur of black robes and orange hair. He had a similar appearance to Rukia's soul reaper uniform with the exception of his collar and these X shaped wrist pieces that made no sense to me.
Ichigo Kurosaki.
His spiritual pressure simmered like a barely contained wildfire, threatening to crush me like the deepest depths of the ocean.
He didn't even look at me at first. His eyes snapped straight to Rukia—taking in the blood, the trembling, the faint flush at the corners of her eyes.
"…Rukia?"
Just one word, low and sharp and too full of concern.
She stiffened.
Ichigo's gaze finally flicked to me—recognition flickering behind his eyes.
"You… you're the guy in the stupid car," he muttered, pointing as if accusing me of a felony. "You were with her earlier. Singing that stupid song."
I blinked. "Uh… I didn't think my singing was that bad, was it?"
He looked me up and down—taking in my normal human clothes, the faint static still buzzing at my fingertips, and then the lightning prison containing a writhing parasitic Soul Reaper.
Upon closer inspection it was starting to look like a cocoon for Hiro to emerge as some kind of moth or butterfly.
Suspicion slammed into place on his face like armor.
"Who the hell are you," he demanded, "and what did you do to Rukia?"
Rukia let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
"Ichigo."
But he wasn't listening. If anything, he stepped closer, protective instincts kicking so hard they practically radiated.
"Rukia's hurt," he said, "and you're—" he gestured wildly at the crackling pentagram "—you're doing this, and she looks like she's been crying, and—"
"Ichigo!" Rukia snapped, cheeks reddening. "I was not crying."
His eyes narrowed at me again. "So if you didn't hurt her, explain why she looks like that."
I held up both hands defensively. "Whoa—hey—I didn't cause her injuries. That was him." I pointed to Hiro's twitching mass of limbs and parasite tendrils. "I'm just the guy who put him in a supernatural bug zapper."
Ichigo hesitated. Just a beat.
"…What?"
Rukia jumped in before he could spiral further. "Orion assisted me. Without him, several victims would be dead."
He did not like that answer.
At all.
In fact, he scrubbed a hand down his face like the universe was personally targeting him.
"So let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You're… Orion."
"Yes."
"You're human."
"Pretty sure."
"You cast lightning magic."
"I improvise. I don't know if I'd call it lighting magic, but Electromancer does sound cool."
Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose in mild annoyance.
"And you were driving Rukia around town earlier today."
"Yes…?"
"And now you're fighting Soul Reapers with her."
"…I guess so, though the initial plan was more like stalking, but that just sounds incriminating"
Ichigo stared at me for three solid seconds.
Then—
"...You must be the kid she used to live in the closet of?"
Ichigo's expression went flat. "The kid?"
Rukia's face went crimson. "Orion—!"
"That was years ago!" she barked, mortified.
He tried to regain control of the situation by putting the point of his sword in the ground like it was something to steady himself, though the sword must have been as big as he was, and I knew friends who would envy that.
"You never mentioned this guy!" He said in a tone that was practically an accusation that tried to steer the conversation.
"I only just met him!" Rukia shot back, in a bickering manner that reminded me of the old married couple stereotype — I was just grateful to not be the jealous type as I sensed their shared history.
Ichigo turned fully to her, expression dropping into something more raw. "You didn't tell me you were working with anyone. I thought—" He cut himself off, jaw flexing. "I just didn't expect to find you like this. Hurt. And with some… lightning… guy."
Jealousy.
The realization hit me like a missed step on a staircase.
It wasn't romantic jealousy—not really.
It was something deeper.
Like he'd been missing her, and the sight of her bleeding beside some stranger cracked open a wound he hadn't known was still healing.
It was written all over his face and he did a poor job of hiding it.
Rukia's expression softened just a fraction. "Ichigo… It's not like that."
He tore his gaze from her and focused back on Hiro, giving himself something simpler to deal with.
"…What the hell is with that guy?"
"A Reishi Parasite," she said. "Using a Soul Reaper host."
Ichigo let out a low whistle. "And you two took him down—"
"Rukia took him down," I corrected. "I just… contained him, really I was kinda useless in the fight, she had already severely weakened him and kept him busy"
Ichigo's eyes drifted to the lightning cocoon again, flickering with the kind of bewildered respect someone gives a homemade weapon they don't understand, but definitely don't want pointed at them.
Then he looked at me one more time.
Still wary.
Still unsure.
But less hostile.
"I don't know who you are," he said quietly, "or what your deal is. But you helped Rukia."
He looked away, cheeks faintly pink, barely audible as he muttered:
"…So… thanks."
Rukia blinked. "Ichigo—did you just—"
"Nope. Didn't say anything. Moving on." He cleared his throat loudly. "So, uh… who is he to you? You two looked pretty close when I saw you earlier."
Ichigo's face was still faintly pink from the "thanks" he definitely did not say.
He cleared his throat so loud it echoed off the alley walls.
"So, uh… who is he to you? You two looked pretty close when I saw you earlier."
Rukia blinked, clearly unprepared for the sudden interrogation. "Ichigo, it's… complicated."
Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "Complicated how?"
Before she could answer, I lifted a hand.
"Complicated is code for 'we have no idea what we're doing, but feelings happened anyway,'" I said. "Honestly? I think we deserve something less vague than complicated. Titles aren't everything, but… maybe I'm her boyfriend?"
Rukia choked on air.
Ichigo's jaw dropped. "Boy—BOYFRIEND?!"
"Maybe!" I emphasized, backing up a half-step but refusing to abandon the joke. "I said maybe. Tentatively. Like trying a hat on in a store."
"You're not a hat!" Rukia sputtered.
"Thanks. That's reassuring." I chuckled
Ichigo rounded on me, finger stabbing the air like he'd found a new Hollow to yell at.
"How old are you?!"
I blinked. "Uh… thirty, is that a problem?"
He recoiled like I'd said three hundred.
"THIRTY?! You're ancient!"
"…Rukia is literally five times my age."
"That's DIFFERENT!"
Rukia face palmed like she could hide her annoyance behind a hand and just half of her face.. "Ichigo… stop yelling at him."
But Ichigo had locked onto me now with the same laser focus he might have used on a Menos Grande.
"What do you even do?" he demanded. "Are you, like, a wizard? Some lightning cosplayer? How do you even know Rukia?"
I opened my mouth. What came out was, unfortunately, very me:
"I'm a guy who is just kinda where he needs to be sometimes, I woke up outside my body one night and met her at some shrine outside of town. We talked, she taught me stuff and before we knew it we were—" I stopped myself when Rukia shot me a look that made it clear that the full truth would put me in an early grave.
"—We've been seeing each other… Turns out bad jokes and random trivia aren't my only super power."
Ichigo stared.
Then—
"What the hell kind of answer is THAT?!"
"A genuine one? I don't know, man, life is weird—"
"Don't get philosophical with me!"
"I wasn't! I panicked!"
"Well stop panicking!"
"I CAN'T, YOU'RE VERY INTIMIDATING!" I snapped in exasperation.
That did it.
Ichigo stepped forward like he was ready to square up.
I stepped backward like my life insurance premiums depended on it.
Even the lightning in the pentagram behind us flickered nervously.
Rukia finally exploded. "ICHIGO! STOP acting like some overprotective brother! You're making it worse!"
Ichigo froze mid-step, expression contorting like she'd slapped him with a dictionary.
"…Brother?" he muttered.
"Yes," she said flatly. "Brother. That is exactly how you're acting."
Ichigo ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "Ugh. Damn it. Fine. Fine."
He shot me the side-eye. "But I swear, if you hurt her—"
"I won't, at least not intentionally. I'm just not that kind of guy." I said immediately, because the thought alone made my stomach twist.
"And honestly, you getting mad at me scares me more than any Hollow so far, so I'm extremely motivated to stay on your good side."
Ichigo squinted at me like he wasn't sure if I was messing with him.
"…Okay," he said reluctantly. "I'll trust her judgment. For now. But I'm watching you."
He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at me, in that classic "I'm watching you" way.
Rukia sighed, but looked… relieved. Even touched.
I exhaled, tension finally bleeding out of my shoulders—
right as Hiro's lightning cocoon crackled ominously behind us.
Ichigo's fingers were still pointed at his own eyes and then at me like he was issuing a pre-battle challenge, which—knowing him for all of 60 seconds—was basically what it was.
Rukia exhaled, rubbing her forehead, but she didn't stop him.
Which terrified me more.
Ichigo stepped closer, arms crossing, brow furrowed in deep concentration. "So. Lightning guy."
"That's… not my official title," I muttered.
"It is now," he said immediately. "Anyway—I need to know what you can do."
My stomach dropped. "Why?"
"Because you're dating—"
He coughed violently.
"—maybe dating Rukia, which means if you're gonna be around her, you better not be deadweight."
"Hey!" I protested.
"That wasn't an insult," Ichigo said. "Okay, it was. But it's also a practical question."
Rukia groaned behind him. "Ichigo…"
"No, no, no—I get it," I said, raising my hands. "You want to size me up like an overprotective dad meeting his daughter's boyfriend. I honestly appreciate the giant sword over a shotgun"
Ichigo's entire face scrunched up.
"WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?"
His voice cracked.
"I'm not—she's not—I'm not old enough—shut up!"
"Hey, you walked into that one," I said defensively.
Rukia actually snorted. The kind of adorable sound that made my heart melt.
Ichigo rounded on her. "You're not helping!"
She only shrugged. "This is your fault." Her tone was more teasing.
He turned back to me with renewed exasperation. "Okay look. I'm not trying to fight you."
Relief washed through me.
"Good," I said. "Because I'm really not trying to fight yo—"
"But," Ichigo continued, "I need to see what you're capable of."
My relief evaporated violently.
"Dude, we just fought a parasite controlled Soul Reaper." I gestured at Hiro spasming in the lightning cocoon. "What more do you want?"
"I didn't see that part," Ichigo said. "I saw the end. I saw the lightning thing. Which, by the way, was insane."
He jabbed a thumb at the crackling star shape on the ground. "So… show me something."
"Something?" I repeated.
"Just… a pulse. A flare. A move. Anything that shows me you're not going to get Rukia killed trying to help."
Rukia stiffened, glaring. "Ichigo, that is NOT—"
"No," I said quietly.
"I get it."
Both of them looked at me.
My hands were trembling—but not from fear of Ichigo.
Not exactly.
I was afraid of failing.
Of looking weak in front of someone who mattered to her.
Of confirming every awful thought Hiro had just dredged up inside her.
I drew in a slow breath, feeling the hum under my skin.
Letting the tension become current.
Letting my focus narrow.
Lightning flickered between my fingertips—soft at first, then sharper, gathering in a tight, controlled arc before snapping as a sword shaped concentrated lightning construct, slicing a perfect glowing gouge through the asphalt a few feet away.
Ichigo's eyebrows shot up.
I exhaled, shaking the tingling out of my hand.
"That… was something," I said quietly.
Ichigo stared at the smoking cut in the ground.
Then at my hand.
Then at Rukia.
"Okay," he said finally. "Yeah. You're not useless."
"Thanks," I muttered.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It sounded like one."
"It wasn't."
Rukia sighed.
But she was smiling. Just barely—but undeniably.
Ichigo took a breath and looked me up and down again, this time less like a threat… and more like someone reevaluating a rival who might—possibly—be worth respecting.
"…Rukia trusts you," he said at last. "That's enough for me."
He glanced away, ears pink.
"But if you hurt her, I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Fair enough," I said. "But please schedule it. I have anxiety."
Ichigo blinked once more in irritated disbelief.
Rukia covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
And for the first time since the fight started…
the world felt a little lighter.
Rukia pulled out her soul phone. Professional again.
"Detainment squad is on the way. But Ichigo—stay alert. Hiro's parasite has learned things. Private things."
Ichigo's eyes sharpened immediately. "Then I'll stick around a bit until they get here."
He stood between us and the street, sword half-drawn, watching every shadow like he expected the world to try something.
For the first time since Hiro started talking…
Rukia looked like she could breathe.
And I understood something:
Ichigo wasn't jealous of me.
He was afraid of losing her.
Just like I was.
There was a shift in the air—subtle at first, then crushing.
One moment, I could breathe.
The next, four new reiatsu slammed into the street like overlapping shockwaves, pressing down on me until I felt like a buoy barely staying afloat in a storm tide. My ribs vibrated with the weight of it.
Rukia straightened immediately.
Her posture sharpened, her voice turning crisp and formal in a way that made my stomach knot.
"Lieutenant Hisagi. Lieutenant Kotetsu. Third Seat Madarame. Sixth Seat Inafune."
She sounded like she was back on duty—like we hadn't been holding each other minutes ago.
"This is the suspect—Hiro Tanaka—currently restrained. He appears to be hosting an advanced Reishi Parasite."
Shuhei approached the lightning cocoon, crouching beside it. His expression was calm, but body was ready and tensed for anything.
"He's definitely corrupted," he said, studying Hiro's writhing form. "Nice work isolating him."
Ikkaku barked a laugh.
"Nice? Guy looks like he got tossed through a spiritual blender."
The first one—Shuhei Hisagi—stood out immediately.
Tall, lean, rough around the edges.
A man who looked like he survived on three hours of sleep and pure stubbornness. His lieutenant's badge was tied at his bicep, and his coal-black hair fell in a careless mess that somehow still worked. Like he didn't bother styling it—just bullied it into staying out of his eyes.
He had that quiet, heavy kind of presence—the kind people get after too many battles and not enough peace.
And despite the seriousness of the scene…
…I tried not to look at the 69 tattoo on his cheek.
For one horrible second all I could think about was the dumbest possible interpretation of it.
My inner teenager rose like a demon of the juvenile abyss.
Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't—
He turned toward me sharply, suspicious. "What's wrong with your face?"
"Nothing," I choked. "I swallowed weird."
Great start, Orion.
That got a raised eyebrow from him.
Rukia elbowed me sharply. "Behave."
Next to him stood a tall, silver-haired, gentle-faced woman with an aura of calm competence radiating off her like a healing balm. She immediately crouched beside Rukia without even acknowledging the rest of us.
"Oh my—Rukia, your leg. Why didn't you call sooner?"
Her fingertips glowed green with healing kidō.
Rukia tried to sit straighter. "It's just a scratch, Isane, I used a some basic kido to stem the bleeding."
Isane gave her a flat look that I instantly recognized as the Universal Mom Stare. "Your 'scratch' has severed tissue fibers. Please don't be dramatic."
Ichigo folded his arms, huffing. "I said the same thing, but noooo, does she listen to me? Of course not—"
"Shut up, Ichigo," Rukia and Isane said in unison.
Ichigo scowled. "…Whatever. I need to get back to Yuzu and Karin soon anyway."
He shot me one last warning glare.
"You hurt her, I hurt you. We clear?"
I nodded fast. "No worries bud."
"Good."
And with a flash step, he was gone.
I finally breathed. Though his comment earned a puzzled glance from Isane.
I watched Isane's hands move with a kind of elegant precision I'd only ever seen in surgeons on TV. Pale blue light pulsed gently from her palms as she worked over Rukia's injury, mending torn muscle and sealing ruptured vessels with movements so practiced they were almost hypnotic.
I didn't know what good healing kidō looked like.
But watching the tension leave Rukia's jaw…
watching her shoulders drop, just a little…
watching that faint, quiet relief cross her eyes…
Yeah.
I knew enough to recognize that Isane was damn good at her job.
I nodded as if I understood kidō theory.
I absolutely did not.
"So uh… maybe introductions?" I said—quiet, awkward, and aimed at the general cluster of death gods surrounding us.
Four sets of eyes flicked toward me at once.
Ryuko paused mid-note, her pen hovering.
Shuhei straightened, his hand resting on his zanpakutō.
Ikkaku cracked his neck to the side with a dull pop.
Isane looked up from Rukia's leg with gentle curiosity.
Rukia sighed and shot me a tiny look that said: You're hopeless.
But she shifted upright anyway, professionalism settling over her like a cloak.
"Very well," she said, brushing dust from her sleeve despite the fresh tears in her uniform. "Allow me to introduce everyone."
She gestured first to the man with the tattoo.
"Lieutenant Hisagi Shūhei of Squad Nine."
Shuhei gave me a curt nod — polite, but guarded.
The 69 tattoo drew my eye again, and I physically willed myself not to laugh.
I think I still smirked.
He noticed.
Next, she turned to the tall woman.
"Lieutenant Isane Kotetsu of Squad Four."
Isane smiled warmly — the kind of smile that belonged in a clinic, not a battlefield.
Her tall frame and calm demeanor dwarfed everyone around her, even Ikkaku.
"Nice to meet you," she said softly.
Then Rukia gestured to the bald one, who looked like he ate nails for breakfast without any milk.
"Ikkaku Madarame of Squad Eleven."
Ikkaku grinned, sharp as a blade.
"You the human who made that lightning trap?" he asked, eyes glinting with battle-lust.
"Pretty gutsy trick. Shame I didn't get to fight the bastard before you fried him."
I swallowed. "Yeah, I can't blame ya for wanting a little action."
That earned and approving grin from Ikkaku.
Then Rukia's hand shifted toward the last member — the bespectacled girl still studying the seal structure with unnerving interest.
"And this is Ryuko Inafune of the Kidō Corps. She's overseeing the transfer procedures."
Short black hair streaked with silver.
Round glasses with thin iron rims.
A ceremonial Kidō Corps coat—dark indigo, embroidered with sigils I didn't recognize.
Gloves marked with faint purple runes.
Quiet, composed, focused.
And—God help me—very, very attractive in that "dangerous librarian who definitely knows how to curse you" way.
I tried not to notice.
I failed a little.
Ryuko pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gave a small bow, eyes locked on me like she was cataloging all the ways I shouldn't exist.
"It is… an honor," she said softly, almost academically.
"I am looking forward to analyzing your methodology further."
I wasn't sure if she meant that in a "let's talk shop" way or a "please lie down on this autopsy table" way.
Probably both.
She moved toward the binding without a word, studying it like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen.
Her voice was soft, but it carried.
"…This is not kidō."
My stomach dropped.
Uh-oh.
She continued, unblinking:
"But its structure mimics kidō—five-point elemental pattern, descending bind flow, inversion of spiritual polarity…"
Her gaze slid up to me.
"How did you learn this?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "Uh… Wiccan stepdad?"
Ikkaku snorted. Shuhei blinked. Isane looked politely confused.
But Ryuko's eyes brightened.
Not in delight—
In fascination.
"Wicca…" she murmured, as though cataloguing the word into her mental library.
"A derivative of Western Branch Ritual Systems… diluted but functional. Remarkable."
She stepped closer—too close—and examined the rods humming in the ground.
"Human spiritual technique shouldn't work like this."
Her eyes flicked to me again, analyzing me like I was a puzzle she wanted to solve.
"And yet…"
Rukia cleared her throat sharply. "Ryuko. Focus."
"Yes, Lieutenant Kuchiki."
Ryuko straightened, but a faint spark still lingered in her eyes.
Rukia's tone shifted — polite but clipped.
"And this," she said, motioning to me with an almost comically restrained gesture, "is Orion Hunter. A… human I encountered during the investigation."
Her pause did not go unnoticed.
Isane looked between us with mild surprise.
Shuhei looked more suspicious.
Ikkaku smirked knowingly.
Ryuko just scribbled "Hunter, Orion — subject displays ritualized reiatsu manifestations. Possible anomaly?" on her notepad.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"Hi," I said. "I'm… not usually wrapped up in any of this. I'm just trying to help."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Shuhei's brow creased as he leaned in, studying my face more closely.
"…Have we met before?"
I blinked. "Uh, I don't think so?"
Ikkaku strode closer, squinting.
"Yeah, hold up — your face is weirdly familiar. You sure you've never been around Seireitei?"
I joked without thinking.
"I dunno, maybe you guys knew my past life or something? Isn't reincarnation a thing?"
Ikkaku barked a laugh.
"If I killed you in a past life, I'd remember that face."
Shuhei muttered, "That's not how reincarnation works—"
Ryuko scribbled something even faster, murmuring, "Past-life resonance potential… interesting."
Shuhei grunted. "If you were a comrade we knew who died, I'd remember that."
He said it with the certainty of someone who would remember.
Someone who had lived through probably centuries of bloodshed and carried every face with him.
The worst part?
I felt it too.
A creeping familiarity with both of them.
Not memory.
Not knowledge.
But recognition.
A ghost echo in my bones.
Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose like she was moments from evaporating out of embarrassment.
I offered her an apologetic half-smile.
I was about to say something, but quickly lost my train of thought when Ikkaku suddenly jabbed a thumb at the buzzing binding on Hiro. "If I hit it, does it explode? I wanna see if it explodes."
"No," I said firmly.
Rukia: "Absolutely not."
Isane: "Please don't."
Ikkaku pouted like a deranged toddler. "What? C'mon! I haven't seen a lightning-based binding since the academy!"
He glanced toward me, eyes narrowing in interest.
"You the one who made it, you must be pretty strong."
"Uh… I actually don't know how strong I am."
"Great. Fight me."
"What? No!"
Rukia stepped between us instantly. "Ikkaku, stand down."
He grinned. "Shame. I like fighting freaky humans."
"I noticed," I muttered.
Rukia whispered sideways to me, "Sorry. Most of my comrades are like this."
"Well why do they all want to fight me?" I hissed. "First Ichigo, now Bald Doom over there, and Shuhei keeps staring like I owe him money."
Shuhei didn't deny it. He just folded his arms and kept glancing at my binding like it offended him.
"…hey," I whispered to her. "Why does it feel like all your friends want to fight me?"
She whispered back without looking at me, "Because they're men from the Soul Society."
"That's not comforting."
"No," she said, "but it is accurate."
Her tone was casual with that familiar bite of her usual humor.
And somehow…
despite everything — the fight, the emotions, Hiro's bile still clinging to the air —
I felt lighter.
Maybe because, for the first time all day…
Rukia wasn't looking weighed down.
She wasn't shaking.
She wasn't cracking.
She was… herself again.
And I needed that more than I realized.