「Don't die... don't want to die... Live. No matter what... no one has the right to take your life...」
That voice again.
It echoed like a half-remembered dream, haunting Amamiya Miyako in the quiet hours before dawn. Ever since entering the Shin'ō Academy—the True Spiritual Arts Academy—the same mysterious voice had whispered to his in the darkness.
At first, he thought it was a lingering memory. But no, this voice was different. It felt alive. A presence. And it was growing clearer by the day.
"Could it be… my Zanpakutō's spirit?" he wondered, sitting up in his futon.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō had heard a voice before he even became a Shinigami. His encounter with Hyōrinmaru led him to discover his power at a very young age. Maybe… maybe this was the same.
But unlike Hitsugaya, Amamiya didn't want to draw attention to himself. Not now.
"If Aizen finds out… that I have this level of potential," he muttered, tightening his grip on the blanket, "he might just smile and say, 'Kyōka Suigetsu.'"
Yare yare… that was a nightmare he couldn't afford.
Still, he couldn't deny the benefits of awakening early. If he could begin mastering his power before the Thousand-Year Blood War, he might just survive what was coming.
He stood up and glanced out the window. The moonlight shimmered faintly on the wooden frames of the dormitory. It was still early, but sleep wouldn't return. Besides, today was no ordinary day.
Today was the day they would receive their Asauchi.
—
Later that morning, the academy's lecture grounds buzzed with anticipation. Students gathered in rows as a strict-looking Shinigami instructor stood atop a raised platform, his voice echoing across the training field.
"Listen up! These Asauchi are not your Zanpakutō. Not yet. They are standard-issue blanks, temporarily loaned to you during your time at the academy."
"If you fail to graduate within six years, the Asauchi will be reclaimed. Only those who complete training and join the Gotei 13 will truly earn the right to wield a Zanpakutō."
The instructor paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"In time, through combat and training, you will inscribe the essence of your soul into your Asauchi. That's how it becomes a true Zanpakutō. However…" His eyes narrowed. "Only a few ever achieve this. Many live and die without ever learning the name of their sword. Cherish your blade."
Behind him, rows of katana—each sheathed and identical—rested neatly atop long wooden tables. The students' gazes locked onto them with a mix of awe and longing.
Soon, names were called one by one.
When Amamiya Miyako's turn came, he stepped forward quietly.
"You're the one with fifth-grade reiryoku, aren't you?" the instructor said, eyeing him closely. "You'd best take this seriously."
"Hai, wakatteimasu," Amamiya answered calmly, bowing. "I'll do my best."
He took the katana from the table and returned to his place.
Being remembered for his reiryoku was inevitable. Fifth-grade spiritual pressure didn't go unnoticed. Still, he reminded herself: blend in. Don't stand out.
Once the distribution finished, the instructor continued with a lecture on Asauchi transformation.
"You must sleep with your sword. Eat with it. Meditate with it. It must be part of you. Only then will its spirit take shape and speak."
—
That night, when the lights of the dorm dimmed and all was silent, Amamiya sat cross-legged on his futon. Her Asauchi rested on her lap.
She focused.
The voice—so persistent in his dreams—now pulsed in rhythm with her breath. It was louder. Closer.
"I couldn't meditate earlier. Too risky," he whispered to herself. "But now… now I'll find out what you really are."
His consciousness slowly drifted.
…
When he opened his eyes again, the world around him had changed.
"…Eh?"
He stood inside a small room—one he hadn't seen in a long time. The same room from the Human World. The same furniture. The same desk. The same crack in the ceiling above the lamp.
"But… why here? This place…"
He turned to the window, hoping to see a familiar street. But instead—nothing. Just endless void beyond the glass. An abyss without end.
"Is this… my inner world?" he whispered.
From behind him, a calm voice answered.
"You already know the answer, don't you?"
Amamiya spun around sharply.
A black-haired, blue-eyed boy stood behind him, arms folded loosely. He couldn't have been older than ten. Draped in a snow-white robe, he carried an air of aloof detachment. A silver Quincy Cross dangled from his right wrist, swaying slightly as he looked at her with piercing eyes.
"You... you're the one who's been talking in my dreams," Amamiya said, narrowing his gaze. "Are you… my Zanpakutō spirit?"
The boy snorted, looking unimpressed. "Zanpakutō? Yare yare... That's not quite it. Right now, I'm not your Zanpakutō. I'm just using this Asauchi as a medium to reach you."
He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "But you should already know who I am. That voice you've been hearing… You felt it long before you ever stepped into the Shin'ō Academy, didn't you?"
Amamiya frowned, pieces of his memory aligning like stars. At first, he'd thought it was like what had happened to Hitsugaya-taichō—the voice of an unborn Zanpakutō calling out before awakening. But now, the pieces no longer fit.
That voice... it had first echoed in his mind just before he'd died in the Human World. A whisper that had clung to him like the last thread of life. A cry of refusal. "Live... no matter what..."
"Yes," the boy said with a nod, as if reading his thoughts. "You really did die once, Amamiya-san. But in the moment of death, your will to survive stirred something deep within that body. Something ancient."
Amamiya's eyes widened. "You mean… Quincy power?"
"Heh. Sō da—that's right," the boy said, his grin sharp as glass. "I am that power. But don't you think it's strange? All mixed-blood Quincy were supposed to be wiped out by the Auswählen—the Holy Selection. Yhwach-sama doesn't leave strays behind. So why are you still here, soul and all?"
Amamiya's brows furrowed. It was a question that had gnawed at him since he first woke up. He had assumed he was lucky. A fluke. But now...
"The only other person like that..." he murmured, realization dawning. "Ishida Uryū."
The boy nodded, approving. "Tadashii. Just like you, he was a mixed-blood Quincy. But he survived the Auswählen without losing his soul. Why? Because of his hidden Schrift. His Sternritter power: 'The Antithesis.'"
Amamiya inhaled sharply. "So that's it… My own Schrift... awakened for just an instant to preserve my soul..."
"Exactly," the boy said with a small smile. "You were dying, but your will was louder than death. That will pulled my power out—just enough to keep your soul intact. If it weren't for the Asauchi reacting to that essence, I wouldn't be able to manifest or speak with you like this."
Amamiya sat down on the edge of the bed, the weight of his words settling over him like a second skin. "So… I'm a Quincy, a Shinigami, and a Sternritter all at once. Yare yare da wa... this is such a mess."
The boy chuckled. "You're not wrong. But you're also lucky. Few get to stand at the border between light and shadow. Even fewer survive it."
He turned his back to him, his figure already starting to fade into smoke.
"Wait!" Amamiya stood. "What's your Schrift? What kind of Sternritter power do I have?"
The boy looked over his shoulder, his smile now cryptic.
"That... you'll have to figure out yourself, Amamiya-san. When the time comes, when you truly need me, I'll be there. Until then—train as a Shinigami. Fight like one. But never forget: you're more than that."
With those final words, he vanished completely, as did the room. The walls dissolved like mist, and the floor gave way to formless light.
Amamiya's consciousness began to drift, pulled upward like a feather caught in a breeze.