High-end ingredients often call for the simplest cooking methods.
After two full hours of bustling around, Momo Hinamori, Rukia Kuchiki, and Saitō Mizuki—helped by Tōshirō Hitsugaya's grandmother—finally brought dish after dish to the table.
Six bowls of brown rice.
One large bowl of miso soup.
A plate of cabbage.
A dish of pickles.
Seven wrinkled grilled saury.
A platter of boiled mushrooms.
And one round, black-skinned watermelon.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Under the dim glow of the oil lamp, Hitsugaya ignored the rice entirely and clutched the watermelon like treasure, devouring it in huge bites.
Every now and then, he spat out a stream of black seeds—messy, careless.
With eating habits like that, no wonder he never seemed to grow.
As for his grandmother, she was just an ordinary soul.
A bit of water was enough to sustain her, so after preparing the meal, she had already gone to rest.
Taichi picked up a piece of grilled saury and placed it over his rice, chewing slowly.
The taste wasn't particularly good.
But it wasn't bad either.
For someone like him—who wasn't picky—it was perfectly fine.
Beside him, Renji Abarai clearly preferred soaking his rice in soup. He ladled a generous portion of miso into his bowl and shoveled it down with reckless enthusiasm.
Across from them, Izuru Kira ate with refined composure.
One hand held the bowl.
The other guided his chopsticks.
Small bites. Slow chewing. Meticulous and restrained.
Meanwhile—
On the opposite side of the table, Tatsuma Fujiwara absentmindedly nibbled on cabbage, occasionally tossing a mushroom into his mouth.
Hinamori and Mizuki, on the other hand, had been chatting nonstop since they sat down.
Their voices filled the room like a never-ending stream.
Even Rukia could barely get a word in.
Because their topic never changed.
"Captain Aizen is such a gentle person… It would be amazing to work under him!"
"Right? If I could, I'd take calligraphy classes five days a week!"
"Yes! I wish the academy would add more calligraphy lessons so Captain Aizen could come teach more often!"
Crunch.
Crunch.
Hitsugaya shot them a glance.
His expression darkened.
He bit into the watermelon harder—this time not even bothering to spit out the seeds, chewing and swallowing them whole.
"In any case," Hinamori continued dreamily, setting down her chopsticks and gazing up at the star-filled sky,
"Captain Aizen is truly incredible… His spiritual pressure feels completely different from ours."
Her eyes shimmered with longing.
"If I could join the Fifth Division after graduation…"
"…I'd get to see him every day…"
Pfft—Pfft—Pfft—!
Hitsugaya finally snapped.
Like a machine gun, he sprayed a barrage of watermelon seeds straight at her.
"Bed-wetting Momo! Since when did you get as naggy as Grandma?!"
"Why don't you just stay at the academy forever and never come back?!"
"Hey! How many times have I told you not to spit seeds everywhere?! Shiro-chan!"
"And how many times have I told you not to call me that?!"
Hinamori, long used to his childish temper, simply exchanged a knowing glance with Mizuki.
There was a teasing smile in her eyes.
"Men really do get jealous easily… even little boys."
"Tch! I'm not jealous of some Shinigami!"
Hitsugaya tossed the watermelon aside and stormed back into the house without another word.
Hinamori, inexperienced as she was, couldn't possibly understand why he'd suddenly gotten upset.
She could only offer an awkward smile to the others and quietly return to her meal.
After all—
Even childhood friends who grew up together wouldn't truly understand each other's hearts…
…unless they spoke honestly.
And Hitsugaya himself couldn't understand it either—
What was so special about Sōsuke Aizen that Hinamori talked about him all day?
For a moment, the atmosphere turned slightly stiff.
Hinamori ate in silence.
Mizuki leaned close to Rukia, whispering something quietly.
...
On the boys' side—
Kira continued his slow, refined meal.
Renji kept devouring food like a starving beast.
And Fujiwara…
had already set down his chopsticks.
He shot Taichi a subtle glance.
Then stood up, stretching casually.
"The food was great. Thanks for the meal."
With that, he turned and left in a hurry.
Slurp—
Taichi drained the last of his miso soup, set the bowl down, and rose to his feet.
"Sorry, I've got something to take care of."
"I'll head out first. See you all at the academy on Monday."
With a brief farewell, he picked up an oil lamp and stepped out into the night.
Under the faint shimmer of starlight, Taichi followed the narrow path leading away from the house.
Step by step—
Until he reached the small river at the very end.
The moonlight poured down, illuminating the water like silver glass.
Aside from the occasional rustle of wind through the trees, the world was utterly silent.
A perfect night—
for a fight.
"Quit stalling, Tatsuma!"
Fūjin Taichi called out across the river, where Tatsuma Fujiwara stood facing him from the opposite bank.
"Let's get this over with. I'm not missing breakfast tomorrow."
"As you wish, Taichi."
Fujiwara raised his left hand.
Resting in his palm was a small, square object—radiating an eerie golden glow.
The next instant—
A blinding flash tore through the night.
And the world changed.
The gentle riverside was gone.
In its place stretched a barren wasteland.
Endless yellow sands.
Cracked, lifeless earth.
Jagged white cliffs rising in uneven ridges.
And above it all—a pale crescent moon hanging in the void.
They now stood in the outermost reaches of Hueco Mundo—the desolate White Sand Wastes.
"…You've got to be kidding."
Taichi looked around, genuinely impressed.
Then his gaze snapped back to the object in Fujiwara's hand.
"That thing's this useful?!"
"All it takes is a 'whoosh,' and you can jump across space-time to anywhere you want?!"
"The Royal Seal," Fujiwara replied calmly, "is a secret treasure of the royal Kazama Clan."
He opened his hand fully, revealing the bronze, seal-like artifact.
Its surface shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
"Once its power is released, the user can freely travel between the Human World, Hueco Mundo, and Soul Society."
"More than that—"
"The user gains absolute control over designated time and space dimensions."
"Throughout history, only direct blood descendants of the Kazama royal line are allowed to safeguard it."
"And every forty-nine years, under the protection of the Gotei 13, its storage location must be changed."
He closed his fingers slightly.
"This… is the Royal Seal."
"Then let me ask you something."
Taichi crossed his arms, thinking.
"If it can travel through space and time so freely… can it take us straight to the Soul King Palace? Or even Hell?"
"Of course not."
Fujiwara snorted lightly and put the seal away.
"Both the Soul King Palace—that so-called 'heaven'—and Hell are completely sealed off by divine power."
"Without special means, reaching them is impossible."
"The Royal Seal only works between the Human World, Hueco Mundo, and Soul Society…"
"…because it was originally designed as the key connecting those three realms."
"I see…"
Taichi nodded slowly, finally understanding.
So the Royal Seal was fundamentally different from the so-called Ōken.
According to legend, there were seventy-two barriers separating the Soul Society from the Soul King Palace—barriers that only the Ōken could break.
And the Ōken itself…
Was not an object in the traditional sense.
It was formed from the reconstructed bodies of those chosen to join the Royal Guard—rebuilt through the power of the Soul King.
In other words, if you wanted to reach the Soul King Palace, there were usually only two ways:
Either be invited by the Royal Guard…
Or go with them.
Of course—
What Taichi didn't know was that there existed a third method.
A far more extreme one.
A method proposed by Sōsuke Aizen.
By sacrificing one hundred thousand souls and a spiritually dense area about 0.3 miles in radius.
You could forcibly tear open a path between the Human World and the Soul King Palace.
If you really stripped things down—
Reframed the entire story of Bleach through a modern lens—
It could all be summed up in three words:
Demolition… and anti-demolition.
Think about it.
Former "Bureau Five Director" Aizen Sōsuke, in a bid to boost his own "performance metrics," planned to redevelop Karakura Town—
By sacrificing both the land and its hundred thousand souls.
Naturally, the "local resident" Ichigo Kurosaki wasn't having it.
With compensation nowhere near acceptable, he became the ultimate holdout.
A professional nail that refused to be hammered down.
Encouraged by former "Bureau Twelve Director" Kisuke Urahara, Ichigo rallied his neighbors—
Uryū Ishida,
Yasutora Sado,
and Orihime Inoue—
Under the guidance of "Bureau Thirteen employee" Rukia Kuchiki—
And stormed the "central housing authority," Seireitei, to file a complaint.
Of course—
The authorities weren't exactly thrilled about a bunch of "uncooperative residents" causing trouble.
They tried to suppress the situation.
But then they realized—
This particular troublemaker had connections.
And was extremely hard to deal with.
So they reluctantly announced an "investigation."
Only to discover—
There had never been any official demolition plan in the first place.
Which meant Aizen had abused his authority for personal gain.
And the rest?
Well…
Let's just say things escalated.
Aizen refused to accept punishment and decided to "appeal to higher authorities."
The system panicked.
Because if he actually made it upstairs—
And started talking—
That would be a disaster.
So both sides went all in.
Recruitments. Alliances. Proxy fights.
Even former employees and fringe elements got dragged into the chaos.
And just like that—
The story of Bleach began.
Seen from that angle…
It's really just a tragic—
and strangely hilarious—
demolition dispute.
Wouldn't you agree?