Chapter 1: A Slice-of-Life Shinigami
23rd District of Western Rukongai.
As soon as the float on the water sank sharply, Watanabe Mizuma's eyes focused.
In one smooth motion, he pulled the line, swung his net, and in less than ten seconds, tossed a fat, glimmering river fish into the bamboo basket beside him.
Before he could appreciate nature's generosity, a familiar chime rang in his ears—bringing him another kind of reward.
[Daily Quest: Fishing]
[Completed]
[Reward: Spiritual Pressure +2 Granted]
Mizuma closed his eyes, quietly feeling the reiryoku within his body.
If his power were a lake, then just now, its surface had risen by the faintest—but very real—amount.
"Thank you, System, for your kind blessing…"
He plucked a snack from a small bowl, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back to gaze lazily at the clouds.
"One hundred more years before the main story starts… guess I've still got a lot of grinding to do."
He sounded like a fortune-teller murmuring to himself—but this was no act.
Watanabe Mizuma was a transmigrator.
Nothing special about the process—just the usual cliché. He died in a traffic accident, closed his eyes, and opened them again in this world of Soul Reapers, aka Bleach. It's been over twenty years since then.
The original Mizuma had been an orphan in Rukongai's western district—timid, with some spiritual talent but no idea how to use it. One winter, he fell ill and passed away. When his eyes opened again, another consciousness had already taken over.
After sorting out the situation, Mizuma entered the Shin'ō Academy, graduated, and joined the Eighth Division. Through steady work (and a great deal of pretending), he'd climbed to the position of Fifth Seat—a rank that offered just enough pay and plenty of time to slack off.
"Long live slacking!" he whispered with mock solemnity.
Unfortunately, this peaceful life couldn't last forever. The Soul Society had never been a quiet place.
Aizen's rebellion lay ahead. The Wandenreich invasion after that.
The first wasn't too bad—Aizen only wanted to rise to godhood. But the latter? The Quincy invasion would truly be a nightmare. When their army stormed Seireitei, no amount of laziness could save anyone.
Mizuma had talent, sure—but not much. He wasn't born blessed like Tōshirō Hitsugaya or Gin Ichimaru. If he relied on training alone, he'd probably die to some random area-of-effect blast someday. The future looked grim.
Luckily, Mizuma had a cheat.
[Lifestyle Player System]
Though a tired old trope, it worked. The system granted him rewards for simple daily activities—walking dogs, feeding cats, fishing, cooking. When he took these tasks seriously, it rewarded him with small bonuses: +1 Reiryoku, +1 Kidō Proficiency, and so on.
Each gain was minor, but stacked over time, they formed a surging tide.
At the very least, far more effective than endless sword drills.
After twenty years of "leveling," Watanabe Mizuma had become strong enough to stand on his own. He couldn't compare to the top captains yet—but with a full century before the main story began, he was sure that someday, he'd be strong enough to smash Yhwach's skull in.
…Maybe.
But promotion? Never happening. Fifth Seat was the perfect balance—little work, decent pay, and minimal responsibility. Climb higher, and you'd drown in paperwork. What comfort could there be in that?
"Slacking off isn't shameful," he said, nodding firmly to himself.
---
Far down the riverbank, footsteps echoed softly.
Carrying a wrapped bundle, Lisa Yadōmaru approached the water. From a distance, she could already see that familiar figure—long black hair swaying lazily in the breeze, snack bowl beside him, fishing rod in hand.
That slouching posture alone was enough to make her furious.
Her fists tightened. Even her shunpo—the flash step—seemed to quicken with anger.
A heartbeat later, she appeared right beside him.
The reflection in her glasses shimmered coldly as she glared at the man before her: lean, calm, his handsome face—one that could rival the Kuchiki heir's—wearing that same infuriatingly lazy expression.
No wonder the younger members all liked him. He looked harmless.
But that wouldn't save him today.
"Wa—ta—na—be—Mizuma!"
Lisa's voice came out from between clenched teeth, sharp and frosty. "You're really hard to find!"
"...!"
Hearing her voice, Mizuma froze for half a second, then forced a laugh. "Eh? Lisa! What a coincidence. I just caught two big ones! How about I treat you to—"
Thud!
A black cloth bundle slammed onto the ground in front of him, cutting him off.
Lisa's voice was cold. "You know what this is?"
He swallowed, hard. "…Let me explain—"
Of course he knew. Those were the official documents the team had recently submitted—ones that he was supposed to process and send to First Division.
He'd almost finished them, but then the System had popped up with a "Fishing Festival Event" notice. Double rewards during the event! So naturally, he'd dropped everything and come here.
It was for training, not slacking! Totally different!
Lisa crossed her arms. "No need to explain. Vice-Captain Sasakibe himself came asking about it." Her brow twitched in irritation. "If I hadn't handled the urgent ones myself, the First Division would've been here to drag you back by now!"
Mizuma gulped, mind racing.
Hundreds of apology strategies flashed through his head—then, with the instinct of a true transmigrator, he picked the optimal one.
"Lisa, you're a lifesaver. I owe you big time. How about this—" He patted his chest solemnly. "I've got a few… magazines from the World of the Living. Hand-picked. Absolute masterpieces. I'll give you one when we get back. Fair?"
Lisa froze. The glare behind her glasses softened slightly—was that a blush?
"…Really?"
"Really."
He nodded vigorously. For a moment, she looked flustered.
"Ahem… anyway, Captain's looking for you. Something urgent."
"Can I just… catch one more?"
"MIZUMA!"