"I said—"

A quiet city. Countless high-rise towers stretched toward a blue sky scattered with thin white clouds. Farther out, nothing but a vast white haze. Stranger still, only two people stood in this city, and both of them stood straight against the outer glass of the towers, as if gravity had no claim on them.

"How long are you going to keep this up?! Huh?!"

The hoarse voice rang out, warped as if run through some kind of filter, rippling across what should have been still water.

"It's been years! Are you really going to let Ichigo keep going like this?!"

The speaker wore a white kimono and looked around eighteen or nineteen. A massive blade wrapped in bandages hung across his back. Everything about him was white — his clothes, his skin, his hair — except his eyes. His pupils were yellow, and the whites of his eyes were black.

"If it could stay like this forever, then I'd want it to last forever."

The calm voice came from the man standing opposite him. A middle-aged man in a pitch-black coat, long hair, a bearded face, semi-transparent sunglasses. His expression was flat, unreadable.

"That's impossible!" The white-clad man's strange voice echoed across the sky. "Whether it's the bastard who made my previous self or the real body behind you, neither of them would ever let Ichigo live an ordinary life!"

"..."

The man in black stayed silent. He always did. After all these years, the white-clad man's arguments hadn't changed once. He was used to it.

...

The rain-soaked world fell quiet for a moment. The white-clad man didn't get much time above the surface. By the usual pattern, he'd vanish again soon enough.

"Speaking of which, it's about time, isn't it?" The white-clad man's voice had settled, though it still carried that electric distortion. "Time for that guy to take back his power."

"...Ah... seems like today." The man in black looked faintly surprised. "Didn't expect you to care about that."

"Don't worry, though. As long as you exist, I won't be taken away."

"Like I give a damn about you, you bastard!" The white-clad man snapped. "You said it yourself once. Only a so-called pure-blood Quincy, or someone like Ichigo who carries my power inside him, can't have their power stolen."

"I just thought of something. Her blood was already impure after my previous self eroded her. Then she passed that previous self on to Ichigo. So with no Hollow power left in her body... what happens to her?"

"..." The man in black was quiet for a moment. "I don't know."

"Tch!" The white-clad man clicked his tongue. "Then you'd better pray she's fine. Otherwise, when the real body behind you turns out to be the one who killed her mother... what's Ichigo supposed to think?"

"..."

The man in black kept his usual silence. But unlike every other day, the white-clad man, who should have already disappeared, was still there.

And as if some valve had been opened, the city's atmosphere shifted. The white-clad man felt it. No, more precisely, he was the source of it.

"Hey!" His mouth curled slowly upward, twisting into something almost savage. "You sure about this? Just a little more. Let me out just a little more, and all those years of your effort go up in smoke."

"I don't want to see Ichigo hollowed out by grief."

"Especially a hollow that might never close." The man in black's placid face hardened. "I'd give everything to prevent that. Everything."

"Hey!" The white-clad man's voice sharpened with excitement. "Now that's more like it! As the power that makes up Ichigo, this is exactly the resolve we need!"

"..."

The man in black fell silent again. The white-clad man's grin faded too. His expression turned grave as he waited, waited for the predetermined moment to arrive.

No one knew of this conversation except the one and only supreme King. And even that King, in this moment, lost his grip on fate. The destiny that had been set in stone was changed here, by a conversation that should never have happened.

...

Six years earlier. June seventeenth. Rain.

Endless dark clouds smothered the sky. Rain fell in a steady drizzle. A truck barreled down the road, tires spraying through the puddles, and the water splashed onto a mother and child walking along the sidewalk. The child was closer to the road, so every drop landed on him.

"Ugh, that truck. Ichigo, are you okay?" The mother, with long, wavy orange hair, pulled out a handkerchief. "Let's switch. Mom will walk on the outside."

"I'm fine, Mom." The boy called Ichigo had the same orange hair. "Good thing I've got my raincoat. I'll stay on the outside. It's no big deal!"

His mother wiped the rainwater from little Ichigo's face. The small yellow raincoat had kept his clothes dry.

"This way I can protect Mom too!" A huge smile spread across his small face. Little Ichigo clenched his fist. "I'm a big kid now!"

"Yes, yes. Our Ichigo is a brave big kid." His mother smiled. "But no. You can only walk on the outside once you can beat Tatsuki!"

"I awready beat her once!" Little Ichigo mumbled, still wiping his face.

"Mom didn't hear anything."

"I already beat her once!"

"Okay, okay." She patted his hair and smoothly stepped to the side closer to the road. "All clean. Let's go."

"Can I hold your hand, Mom?"

Little Ichigo asked it shyly. He called himself a big kid, and at nine years old, holding his mother's hand while walking felt a little embarrassing. But the rainy night and the empty streets made him uneasy.

"Of course you can!"

His mother reached out with a smile, and her hand smoothed away that unease like gentle water. Little Ichigo happily took it, and they started toward home.

Mother and child walked hand in hand through the rainy night. Not far away, the river rushed past, fast and swollen. Maybe because of the rain, the road, never busy, held no one else at all.

"Hm?"

Suddenly, little Ichigo caught a glimpse of a figure across the street. He looked closer. Someone was standing on the riverbank. A small figure. Maybe five or six years old.

"Mom, wait for me."

Before he'd even finished speaking, little Ichigo was already climbing over the roadside guardrail, crossing the street, running toward the smaller child.

"Huh?"

His mother froze. By the time she registered what was happening, Ichigo had already bolted. Then she saw the child on the riverbank too. Her instincts, years of experience, told her immediately: that thing was not human.

No time to think. Little Ichigo was almost across the street. Panic seized her, and she could only scream as she sprinted after him.

"No! Ichigo!"

➤ Next: Night in the Rain (Part 2)