The elevator ride up the Wandenreich Tower was silent and swift.
Ichigo watched the floor numbers climb toward the triple digits.
Beside him, Yuzu and Karin gripped their mother's dress, their eyes wide with the nervous excitement only children feel. Isshin, usually so boisterous, was sweating through his cheap travel shirt, tugging at his collar.
The doors opened with a soft chime.
They stepped directly into a penthouse that looked more like a throne room made of glass and chrome.
High ceilings, white marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the clouds of Manhattan.
At the far end of the room, sitting behind a desk made of dark, polished wood, was the man.
Juha Bach.
He didn't move as they approached.
He sat with his hands folded under his chin, his dark eyes sharp and cold, like a king waiting for a report from the front lines.
The air around him felt heavy—not with the suffocating spiritual pressure Ichigo remembered from the war, but with the weight of absolute authority and billions of dollars.
"Father, we're home!"
Masaki cried out, breaking the heavy silence.
She didn't wait for an invitation.
She ran across the marble floor with the same energy she used to greet Ichigo at the dojo.
Juha Bach's face was a mask of stone. He looked every bit the ruthless billionaire.
But as Masaki got closer, the corner of his eye twitched. The "Emperor of Quincy" didn't stand up, but his posture softened by a fraction of an inch.
"You are late, Masaki,"
He said. His voice was deep, like a low roll of thunder.
"The traffic in this city is no excuse for a daughter of the Bach family."
"Oh, stop being so grumpy!"
Masaki laughed, reaching the desk and leaning over to kiss his cheek.
Juha let out a short, huffing breath.
To anyone else, it sounded like a grunt of annoyance.
To Ichigo, who was watching with the eyes of a veteran, it was the sound of a man who had just lost a battle he never intended to win.
Then, Juha's eyes shifted to Isshin.
Isshin stood as straight as a board, his face pale.
"H-hello, Father-in-law. Long time no see. You're looking... very wealthy today."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Juha's eyes narrowed into slits.
The hatred was there—deep, ancient, and very personal.
"Kurosaki,"
Juha said, the name sounding like a curse.
"You still breathe my air. You still stand in my home after taking my daughter to that... backwater town."
"Now, Father,"
Masaki warned, her hands on her hips.
Juha closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath.
When he opened them, the killing intent was gone, replaced by a weary sort of tolerance.
"As I told you over the phone... the fact that you have provided me with three healthy heirs is the only reason you are not currently at the bottom of the Hudson River. Sit down and be silent."
Isshin didn't need to be told twice.
He scrambled for a chair, looking like a man who had just been granted a stay of execution.
Juha turned his attention away from the "idiot son-in-law" and looked at the two little girls hiding behind Masaki.
His expression underwent a startling transformation.
The coldness didn't vanish, but a layer of genuine, almost hungry affection took its place.
"Come here,"
He commanded, though his tone was surprisingly gentle.
"Let me look at you."
Yuzu and Karin walked forward slowly.
Juha reached out, placing a large, warm hand on each of their heads.
He closed his eyes. Ichigo watched closely.
He saw a faint, blue light flicker beneath Juha's skin—the sign of a soul-check.
"Yuzu... Karin,"
Juha murmured.
"You are strong. Your blood is pure and vibrant. I see your threads... They are woven with comfort and long life. You were born with a very strong fate. You will be the jewels of this family."
Yuzu giggled, feeling the warmth of his hand.
"Grandpa's hands are scratchy."
Juha actually smirked—a tiny, ghost of a smile.
"They are the hands of a man who built an empire for you, little ones."
Finally, his eyes landed on Ichigo.
The playful atmosphere evaporated. Juha leaned forward, his gaze piercing through Ichigo's orange hair and right into his soul.
For a second, Ichigo felt the urge to reach for a sword that wasn't there.
He had to remind himself: I'm nine. I'm a kid. Be a kid.
"And the boy,"
Juha said.
"The one they named for a protector."
He beckoned Ichigo forward. Ichigo walked with steady steps, his face neutral.
As Juha placed a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, the boy did his own assessment.
He's strong, Ichigo realized. But he's not the god who destroyed the world.
'This Juha Bach is around the level of a Soul Society Captain. Maybe a bit more. But the 'Almighty' power... it's not awake yet. Or maybe it's different here.'
Juha's eyes suddenly snapped wide open.
He gripped Ichigo's shoulder tight—not in anger, but in shock.
A low, vibrating hum filled the room.
"This..."
Juha whispered, his voice trembling with a sudden, sharp joy.
"This is impossible."
"Father?"
Masaki asked, stepping closer, concerned.
Juha didn't answer her. He was staring at Ichigo like he had just discovered a new planet.
"I have read the fates of thousands. I have seen the threads of kings and presidents. But yours, Ichigo... your fate is the strongest I have ever seen. It is not just a thread; it is a golden cable that anchors the world."
He stood up from his desk, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the penthouse.
He began to laugh—a deep, booming sound that held no malice, only a terrifying pride.
"I thought I would have to search for decades for a successor! I thought the Bach bloodline would fade into mediocrity! But you... you are the masterpiece!"
Juha sat back down, his eyes still burning with excitement.
He looked at Masaki and Isshin, though it was clear he wasn't asking for their opinion.
"The arrangements are already made,"
Juha announced.
"Tomorrow, Ichigo will be enrolled in the Baxter Academy for the Gifted. It is the most elite school in the country. No... in the world."
Isshin blinked.
"The Baxter Academy? Isn't that for, like, super-geniuses? I heard the tuition is more than my lifetime earnings."
"Which is why it is fortunate that you are not paying for it,"
Juha snapped. He looked at the girls.
"Yuzu and Karin will attend a private school nearby, where they will learn the arts and the graces of high society. They will be pampered. They will have everything they desire."
Then he pointed a finger at Ichigo.
"But you, Ichigo. You will not be pampered. You are my heir. You carry a fate that could move mountains, and I will not see it wasted. Your education will be strict. Your training will be absolute. After school, you will come here. You will learn the business, you will learn the history of our people, and you will learn to lead."
Masaki looked a bit worried.
"Father, he's just a little boy. Let him play a bit first."
"He is not a boy,"
Juha said, his voice dropping to a serious, gravelly tone.
"He is a king in waiting. In this city, Masaki, those who do not lead are trampled. I will make sure Ichigo is the one doing the treading."
Ichigo looked at his "Grandpa." He saw the same face that had once tried to erase him, now looking at him with the pride of a grandfather.
It was bizarre. It was crazy.
But as Ichigo looked out the window at the sprawling, superhero-filled city of New York, he felt the powers in his soul—the Phoenix, the Magnetism, the Mystic Arts—pulse in response to Juha's challenge.
'You want to be strict, old man?'
Ichigo thought, a cocky grin finally breaking through his facade.
'Fine. Bring it on. I've already passed through so much. Learning how to run a business shouldn't be that hard.'
"I'll do it,"
Ichigo said aloud, his voice clear and firm.
Juha Bach nodded, satisfied.
"Good. Welcome to America, Ichigo Kurosaki-Bach. Your life as a normal child ends today."