Chapter 192: The Street of Souls
Aizen's plan for Ichigo was surprisingly simple. Or rather, the complicated parts were never meant for Ichigo to shoulder. Kisuke and Sosuke would handle the machinery behind the curtain.
From the outside, it looked like Ichigo had stormed into Seireitei alone, then hesitated the moment he witnessed Mayuri's cruelty.
In truth, that "hesitation" was bought with chaos.
While Ichigo moved, the captains were tangled in a web of suspicion and false leads, all carefully threaded by Kisuke and Sosuke. Otherwise, when Mayuri's Bankai was shattered, Shunsui would never have simply sat at the palace gate, watching from afar, raising a toast like it was a festival.
If Ichigo had entered through the main gate under normal circumstances, he would have met the real will of the Gotei 13.
Thirteen divisions that existed to protect Seireitei would not have allowed a neat series of duels. They would have attacked together, without hesitation, without ceremony, and they would have crushed him with coordination.
Instead, Ichigo arrived quickly, and left just as quickly.
Along the way, he saw things he could not unsee.
He saw how Gin dealt with his own subordinate, how Mayuri treated his own soldiers, how even a battle maniac like Kenpachi did not care what kind of damage a mere "traveler" might cause.
If Ichigo had remained ignorant, he might have believed he could cooperate with captains like these, men with sharp personalities but undeniable strength. As Sosuke had said, some of them could even seem strangely fair, at least when dealing with those of similar status.
But after witnessing everything, there was no going back.
Ichigo had grown up in the modern world. He had been taught, stubbornly and sincerely, that human life mattered. Before Soul Society could corrode him, someone had guided him first.
Everything Sosuke said left marks on him.
Whether it was his father, or the captains of Soul Society, their view of life was incomprehensible to him. Worse than that, it was unacceptable.
He would never become that kind of person.
He did not want to.
Life should not be measured that way. The world should not be built like this.
…
Rukongai.
In the center of a street, shadows twisted together like the world had suffered a brief signal failure. Black light overlapped, then folded inward, shaping a jagged outline in midair.
Ichigo stepped out.
Screams erupted from all around him. Wandering spirits stumbled back, faces pale, eyes wide, bodies already turning to flee.
Ichigo sighed before he even realized he was doing it.
"It's okay," he said quickly. "I'm not a Shinigami."
He raised a hand, trying to show he meant no harm.
Their fear only intensified.
Some of the bolder ones shouted in panic, "Death is testing his blade again," and sprinted away like their souls were on fire.
The street, which had been barely lively a moment ago, emptied in an instant.
They were practiced. Too practiced.
Even with his chakra senses, Ichigo could only watch them scatter. Their speed was almost unreal, the kind of desperate efficiency you only learned after surviving the same terror again and again.
The district number here was low enough that it still had a hint of "order," but the vigilance was monstrous. Ichigo did not even get the chance to ask a question.
He had only arrived, and they were already gone.
I was teleported to a later district number.
Lucky or unlucky, he could not decide.
It would be easy to find wandering spirits who hated Seireitei, people who wanted revenge, people with rage baked into their bones.
The problem was that those people did not trust outsiders either.
Not all of Rukongai was completely abandoned. In the earlier districts, there was still structure, still patrols, still the faint illusion of safety. Those areas housed Shinigami families, friends of nobles, people with connections strong enough to act like armor.
But the further the district numbers sank, the more the world rotted.
In those later districts, the streets were testing grounds. Shinigami came and went, "training" with blades, selecting "subjects," proving courage, proving loyalty, proving boredom.
Judging by how fast everyone had run, this place was visited often.
Do not assume Shinigami feel obligated to protect Rukongai.
They protected the balance of the Three Realms, and they protected Seireitei. They had no interest in wandering spirits. Their lives were separate, cut apart by status and power.
Wandering spirits did not even need food to survive here. Soul Society was thick with spiritual particles. If you breathed and endured, you could live.
In theory, it was paradise.
A place where hunger should not exist, where talent and effort could build a golden age.
In reality, it was impossible.
Control belonged to Seireitei.
And what Seireitei did not control, it allowed to decay until the people living there began tearing each other apart.
Ichigo understood the explanation before. Sosuke had told him the history, the noble wars, the collapse of anything that could be called equal.
But understanding something with words was different from seeing it with your own eyes.
Mayuri had made that difference bleed in front of him.
That was the lesson.
This world was built on an absolute gap. The moment you died, you became something else, and the moment you gained power, the past was something you could discard.
…
"Hey, stop running."
Ichigo's voice followed a single fleeing spirit down an alley.
Running any further would not help.
Space rippled.
Blackness folded open.
Ichigo stepped out again, directly in front of the trembling man. The wandering spirit froze, tears spilling down his face, words caught in his throat like broken glass.
Ichigo rubbed his forehead, helpless.
"Running won't help. I can find you through space. I just want to ask a few questions. You don't need to be this scared."
"T this Shinigami…"
"I'm not a Shinigami."
The man swallowed hard, then forced his voice out.
"Then, sir."
He bowed repeatedly, trembling so badly his shoulders shook.
"Did you come to test your blade. To do experiments. If you have questions, I will answer. I only beg you, please spare my life…"
Ichigo stared at him.
He looked like he had died in the modern era. His clothes and speech still carried that faint shape.
And yet his fear was absolute.
"Why are you so afraid," Ichigo asked, quieter now. "If you're from modern times."
The man managed a bitter laugh.
"Sir, how could I not be afraid."
"Isn't Soul Society supposed to be an easy place."
"It is," the man said quickly. "In the early districts. For us, in the later numbers, we live at the mercy of the weather."
He hesitated, then corrected himself with a flinch.
"The mercy of heaven."
He meant the Shinigami.
In the early districts, Shinigami even patrolled. In the later districts, Shinigami treated them as training grounds. Some places had given up entirely, turning into dumping pits where cruelty fermented and produced new tyrants, and those tyrants rebuilt the pit in their own image.
In a flat voice, as if reciting survival rules, the man explained what life here was.
First, never offend the Shinigami. They might purge the district, kill for amusement, or take people as experimental subjects.
Second, never cross into other districts, especially after a Shinigami "marks" an area. If they draw a boundary, stepping outside it is a death sentence.
Third, do not dream of owning property unless you have the strength to defend it. Possessing anything valuable without power was an invitation to be slaughtered.
Those who survived either clung to Shinigami or had family destined to become Shinigami. With enough luck, they rose to better districts.
In theory, the ladder existed.
In reality, the cost of climbing it was monstrous.
As the man spoke, his fear slowly mixed with resentment, then with something heavier. Hatred, shaped by years.
"…We were doing fine at first," he said, voice hoarse. "Then Shinigami tested the lower districts. A flood of wandering souls were pushed upward. We were already low, but when they arrived, we had to resist. We killed each other. What else could we do."
He clenched his fists.
"The districts are divided so clearly. Everyone here is one of us. How can we let outsiders take our territory."
His lips trembled.
"It's not that we lack compassion. But many times the Shinigami drive us into it, force us to fight. Sometimes they don't want to do it themselves, so they seal off an area and make wandering spirits from other districts do the killing."
He looked away.
"It started low, so theft and robbery were easy. Then it became normal."
Ichigo listened, jaw tightening.
Then he asked, suddenly and plainly.
"Do you want to rebel."
The man blinked.
Ichigo's voice stayed steady.
"Do you want to live in a better world. Use your own strength, gain your own weapons, and fight the Shinigami system. Do you want that."
The wandering spirit froze.
Then he forced a smile, tired and defeated.
"Sir, I don't. I really don't."
His eyes were old.
"I'm already this old. I don't care about fighting. I won't starve to death anyway. I'll just hide in the mountains. Please, just let me go…"
Ichigo stared at him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"…Alright."
He stepped aside.
"But if anyone does want to resist, anyone who wants to fight this system, tell them to come here tomorrow."
"Okay, okay," the man said too quickly.
And the moment he believed Ichigo meant it, he ran, fleeing like he had escaped a blade.
Ichigo watched his back disappear, and exhaled slowly.
That person is terrified. He will not speak for me.
He already knew.
"However, hope is still useful."
A gentle voice spoke from behind him, calm and familiar, like a hand placed on a shoulder before you turned around.
"Good afternoon, Ichigo."
Ichigo did not flinch.
In his mind, Sosuke Aizen was almost like a solution that arrived before the problem finished forming, a man who could sit still and still make the world move.
Of course he could find this place.
Ichigo turned.
Sosuke stood there in a white haori, glasses catching the light, expression mild.
"So," Sosuke asked, "have you seen Mayuri, and the others."
Ichigo's long orange hair began to fade, shifting back into his familiar spiky style, as if the disguise was peeling away now that the performance had ended. He tugged at the oversized white coat he still wore and nodded.
"I've seen it."
His voice roughened.
"Words weren't enough. I never imagined someone would turn loyal subordinates into bombs. Even if there's some so called justification, it's too cruel. I don't understand why it's allowed."
He looked around at the shantytown, at the dirt, at the broken walls, at the wandering spirits who hid like prey.
The spiritual particles in the air felt thick, almost mocking.
This world was built to sustain everyone, and yet it stank of greed, power, and desire so warped it made people kill each other for scraps.
Ichigo's expression tightened.
Sosuke did not explain.
Instead, he began walking, and Ichigo followed.
"It's a coincidence," Sosuke said, almost casually. "You have relatives near this district."
Ichigo blinked.
"Huh."
"Kurosaki Isshin," Sosuke continued, "was Shiba Isshin. He was once the head of the Shiba family."
Ichigo's steps slowed.
"The Shiba family was once one of the five great noble families. When they declined, they were pushed out of Seireitei. They moved into Rukongai. You could call it exile, or you could call it refusing to associate with the rot inside Seireitei."
Ichigo's eyes widened.
"That sounds… decent. Dad's side has a conscience after all."
Sosuke's smile stayed gentle.
"Ah. They do."
He paused, then added softly, "Or perhaps they have too much."
Ichigo leaned closer, suddenly eager, like a kid chasing warmth in the cold.
Sosuke adjusted his glasses.
"The Shiba family has always felt guilty about murdering the Spirit King. They also possess a way to enter and leave the Spirit King's palace."
Ichigo nodded, still not fully grasping the weight.
"Atonement," he said. "That sounds good."
Sosuke fell silent for a beat, his expression kind in a way that did not change, and yet somehow grew sharper.
Ichigo's excitement drained.
He slowly realized what that kind of guilt meant.
What that kind of family dream demanded.
His face tightened, and his eyes flicked toward Sosuke with cautious alarm, trying to ask without speaking, trying to hint that the "good child" they wanted might be him.
Sosuke responded with the same friendly smile.
"The Shiba family will be very happy," he said, "that you've become someone so outstanding."
Ichigo's throat bobbed.
"Huh. Huh. Then maybe we just forget it. Maybe we don't acknowledge them at all."
"That's why I told you," Sosuke said, voice patient, almost teacher like, "mastering chakra, and the ability to create a world, matters."
He glanced toward Ichigo, and his words landed like a quiet verdict.
"Before, no one had a choice. Now you have a new path. Many problems become… simpler."
Ichigo looked away, unsettled.
Sosuke continued walking, and Ichigo followed because there was nowhere else his feet wanted to go.
Sosuke's tone softened, not with pity, but with something more distant.
"I don't want anything in this world to become a burden to me," he said. "So you need to meet these people. Understand them."
His gaze drifted, as if seeing beyond the street, beyond Rukongai, beyond the Three Realms.
"From now on," Sosuke said quietly, "everything depends on you."
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