In a quiet wooden house nestled deep within the outer districts, Lu Yu sat cross-legged on a tatami mat, his gaze steady as he stared into a shallow water basin whose still surface reflected his image with uncanny clarity—a young man whose features seemed carved from jade, his star-shaped eyebrows catching slivers of sunlight that filtered softly through the paper-paneled walls.
The face looking back at him was familiar, hauntingly so. Though it didn't match his previous life's appearance in every detail, it bore enough resemblance to stir something unsettling within him, as if he were examining a version of himself sculpted by another hand in a slightly different world.
That was him—Lu Yu. Or rather, the version of Lu Yu that now existed in this realm.
If Byakuya Kuchiki had ever possessed a more relaxed, approachable twin—one who walked with less rigidity and more curiosity—perhaps this was the man he would've resembled. The locals, at least, seemed to think so, often calling him "Little Lu Yu" with teasing fondness, a nickname that had quietly endured for decades.
Though the scenery outside appeared to be something lifted straight from a pre-modern Japanese island, with every detail steeped in the aesthetics of the Edo period, Lu Yu knew without question that this wasn't some historical dreamscape. This was the Soul Society—a world that existed beyond death, watched over by the enigmatic Shinigami.
Back in his past life, he had been nothing more than an ordinary office worker on Blue Star, just another name in a vast city whose nights were spent half-alive, immersed in digital distractions and fleeting obsessions.
Only the night before his transmigration, he had stayed up watching anime clips—Bleach, of course, his favorite—until sleep finally pulled him under in what should have been just another forgettable night.
But when he opened his eyes again, the world he had known had vanished, erased cleanly like chalk from a board.
Somewhere between dimensions and destinies, he had awakened as a soul in Rukongai, cast into a world governed not by logic or effort but by the invisible currency of spiritual energy.
Though he retained the name Lu Yu and looked roughly the same age as before, he now inhabited the body of someone who had lived in Junrinan, the western region of Rukongai, for more than a hundred years.
That was the quiet truth of this realm—a place where souls gathered after death, where time flowed unevenly, where lives stretched long and strange depending on the energy coursing through one's soul.
Those born with spiritual power led lives that resembled mortality. They aged, fell ill, trained hard, and, if gifted enough, could one day walk the sacred path toward becoming a Shinigami.
But for souls like Lu Yu, who lacked even a flicker of such power, life was a very different affair. They didn't grow older, didn't feel hunger gnawing at their bellies, and could subsist indefinitely with only water, drifting in a spiritual stasis that blurred days into decades.
After about a century, such souls would quietly dissolve, their particles returning to the cycle of reincarnation without fanfare, regret, or resistance.
To those without ambition, Rukongai could seem a paradise—peaceful, unchanging, serene.
The body Lu Yu now inhabited had been just such a soul: gentle, humble, a neighborhood healer who practiced simple medicine and served his neighbors without complaint. That life had ended not with drama but with quiet fading, allowing the Lu Yu from Blue Star to seamlessly assume his place.
Though the memory integration had gone without incident, and though the body responded as naturally as his own, one harsh reality had not changed—he still possessed no spiritual power, and without it, the gates of Seireitei remained forever shut.
He exhaled, letting the breath cool his lips as he dipped his fingers toward the water's surface and lightly touched his cheek, testing sensation with enough pressure to provoke a response.
The sting of contact made him wince, and he muttered, more to himself than anyone, "Ouch... That actually hurt... That's wild."
The irony didn't escape him.
He remembered Bleach vividly—the anime he had devoured with wide-eyed obsession in his former life. He remembered the battles that shook the heavens, the overwhelming pressure of Reiatsu pouring like waves through the battlefield, and the majesty of each Zanpakutō unfurling in breathtaking glory.
And now, fate had dropped him into that very world.
Yet here he was—powerless, without a sword, without even the means to defend himself.
A sigh escaped him as he lamented the absence of one small item he once took for granted. If he still had his phone, he would've already posted something dramatic to the forums that had once been his escape.
> Urgent help needed
Trapped in a Shinigami world with no spiritual power, no Zanpakutō, and zero drip.
What now?
Before transmigrating, he had no spiritual power. And now, after all that cosmic meddling, he still had none. It felt less like reincarnation and more like a cruel rerun.
Where was the cheat system? Where was the golden finger? Wasn't every transmigrator supposed to come equipped with some divine perk?
His eyes drifted toward the neighboring homes where two incredible children lived—prodigies in hiding, whose Reiatsu would one day tower above all—but here they were, quietly going about their lives, unaware of their future greatness.
Lu Yu's gaze returned to the water, his reflection warping slightly as bitterness seeped into his heart like over-steeped tea.
In this world, the distance between people wasn't just a matter of strength or status; it felt like a cosmic divide. Those with spiritual power stood in the heavens. Those without were stuck in the dirt.
He was still caught in that spiral of frustration when a sudden, frantic voice shattered the stillness outside.
"Brother Lu Yu! It's bad! Really bad! Grandma Hitsugaya fainted! Hurry!"
The paper door slammed open, and a girl stumbled inside, breathless and pale with worry. She was one of those "monsters," although you'd never guess from her soft features and slim frame.
Hinamori Momo—recently accepted into Shin'ō Academy, sharp-eyed and bright-spirited—was perhaps the closest thing the previous Lu Yu had ever known to a younger sister.
She wasn't yet the refined lieutenant of the Fifth Division, the one familiar to anime fans, with her carefully combed hair and calm demeanor. No, this Momo wore twin ponytails that bobbed with every step, her cheeks tinged with peach, and her wide brown eyes shimmering with alarm.
Her small hands trembled as she pleaded, voice rising like a frightened bird.
Lu Yu rose quickly, keeping his tone composed even as tension pulled taut in his gut.
"What's going on, Xiao Tao? Take a breath and speak clearly."
Though he looked no older than twenty, the original Lu Yu had spent his life studying medicine. And when he came to Rukongai, he had become the de facto physician of his district—a soul doctor whose treatments spanned everything from fevers to shattered limbs.
But while he had inherited that knowledge perfectly, he had never actually practiced under his own name—not yet.
There was no time to hesitate. He followed Momo across winding alleys and quiet streets to a modest home where Grandma Hitsugaya lay weak and pale upon a straw mat, her eyes fluttering as she whispered.
"I'm fine... Just tired... It's nothing... Just age catching up..."
She tried to sit up several times, but each effort was gently thwarted by a small silver-haired boy kneeling at her side—his turquoise eyes sharp, his presence fierce despite his size.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō, her grandson, watched over her like a silent sentinel, snow-wolf stillness in his stance and worry etched deeply in his young face.
"Brother Lu Yu... please... please help her..."
His voice cracked, the plea barely holding back tears, and he reached out, clinging to Lu Yu's sleeve as if anchoring himself to a promise of salvation.
"I will," Lu Yu said quietly, then knelt beside the mat and took the old woman's pulse, tuning out everything else as he let instinct take over.
As he concentrated, a strange sensation crept along his fingers—cold, but not in any physical sense. The air itself had thinned, as though frost had silently gathered without season or warning.
It didn't belong here. Junrinan's climate was warm and gentle year-round. This chill was foreign—unnatural.
Suppressing that suspicion for the moment, he pressed forward with his examination, fingers moving carefully, knowledge guiding him with steady certainty.
A few minutes later, he turned to the waiting children.
"She's not in danger," he said, voice calm and measured. "She simply pushed herself too hard. Her body just needs rest."
With gentle hands, he pulled the quilt higher over her frail frame, adjusting it with practiced care until she drifted into soft, steady breathing.
Outside, with the door closed behind them, Tōshirō looked up at Lu Yu, anxiety still burning behind his eyes.
"Is... is Grandma really going to be okay?"
His voice wavered, weighed down by guilt. He had seen her go pale, seen the way she collapsed—and something inside him told him it hadn't just been exhaustion.
Momo stood beside him in silence, her fists clenched in quiet determination. She had already made a silent vow to herself: when she began studying at the academy, she would learn Kaidō no matter how hard it was, so that next time, she wouldn't have to rely on anyone else to protect the ones she loved.
Lu Yu nodded, giving them both a reassuring smile.
"She'll recover just fine. That chill you felt likely came from an external surge—probably a nearby spike of ice-type Reiatsu. Her body reacted to it, but she'll be okay with warmth and rest."
Then, with a flick of his finger and a smirk tugging at his lips, he added, "My professional advice? Drink more hot water."
It was a ridiculous, old-world meme of a phrase—something every overworked doctor on TV used to say—but now, in this life, it was the most grounded advice he could offer.
And yet, beneath his calm, a shadow stirred.
That cold energy—he had felt it.
It wasn't just imagined.
The trigger had been pulled.
The plug-in had arrived.
The boy who had quietly stood beside his grandmother was close—dangerously close—to awakening the strongest ice-type Zanpakutō in Soul Society.
Hyōrinmaru. A sword that embodied winter's fury and heaven's elegance.
Lu Yu envied that awakening—not out of pettiness toward the boy, but because he longed to feel that power surge within himself, longed for something that finally belonged to him.
Too bad it didn't.
And yet... how had he sensed it?
How had someone without spiritual power perceived such subtle Reiatsu so clearly?
Beside him, Tōshirō lowered his head, guilt carving deep lines into his small face.
"This is my fault... Why do I have such strong spiritual power?"
He had felt it too—but fear had kept him silent. He didn't want to be different. He didn't want to lose the ones he cherished.
But the shift had already begun.
Change was coming—swift, vast, and irreversible.
Lu Yu's fists tightened beneath his sleeves.
Why am I powerless?
Where is my Zanpakutō?
Why does the world refuse to give me a cheat?