Ichigo stared up at the face of his mother, the familiar, gentle curve of her smile momentarily shattering the walls he had built around his battle-scarred soul.
The sheer, devastating relief of seeing her alive—whole, real—was overwhelming.
"Mom…"
The word was a choked whisper, thick with years of unspoken grief and a future that never was.
A single, scalding tear tracked a path down his cheek.
Masaki Kurosaki's eyes softened with concern.
She immediately knelt down, her warmth radiating as she pulled his small body into a loving embrace.
"What's wrong, Ichigo-chan? Are you having a bad dream?"
She murmured, rubbing his back.
He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the comforting, clean scent of her clothes.
He had drifted off after his late-day training at the dojo, and Masaki had apparently just returned from the store, his favorite strawberry milk tucked into her bag.
Ichigo didn't need to lie. He just nodded mutely.
If all the carnage, the sacrifices, and the ultimate destruction of his world could be called anything, it was the worst nightmare imaginable.
"It's alright,"
She whispered, her voice a balm to his soul.
"Kaa-chan is here for Ichigo-chan."
She held him for a long moment, the simple act of protection feeling like a mountain of reassurance.
Then she straightened, giving his cheek a playful tap.
"Come on. Let's go back home. Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan really miss their older brother, you know."
The memory of his little sisters, so young and so tragically robbed of a mother's time in his previous timeline, fueled a fierce resolve inside him.
'Never again,'
He vowed, tightening his small fists.
'Grand Fisher... I will end you now, before you can even touch her.'
A quick, internal assessment confirmed his status.
His inherited Soul Reaper, Hollow, and Quincy powers remained dormant, locked away until the inevitable catalyst—the moment of death—or natural spiritual awakening.
However, the gifts from the cosmic architect were now fully integrated.
The innate knowledge of the Mystic Arts, specifically, had flooded his mind upon waking.
'They are so powerful,'
Ichigo realized, sifting through the mental catalogue of spells, shields, and dimensional constructs.
'More potent than even Kido.'
He didn't know the full extent of Shinigami spells yet, but the sheer complexity and raw power of the Mystic Arts spoke of energies far beyond soul-based magic.
If mastered, this dimensional manipulation could easily become a power of planetary scale.
Masaki led him out of the familiar, sturdy dojo, and they began walking the darkening path toward home.
The air grew heavy, and a fine, cold rain began to descend, slicking the pavement and reflecting the streetlights.
Ichigo's skin crawled with immediate dread.
This was the moment. They were approaching the riverbank where, in the true timeline, fate had made its cruel intervention.
He knew that any spiritual energy Masaki had to protect herself would soon be withdrawn by Yhwach, leaving her vulnerable.
Suddenly, his unawakened spiritual senses—sharpened by his young soul's immense power—registered a faint, insidious tug on his awareness.
It was the lure, the sickening bait of the Grand Fisher, drawing him toward the water.
Ichigo looked toward the riverbank, his eyes piercing the gloom and the light rain.
There it was—the grotesque, moth-like Hollow, its dangling lure swaying innocently.
A cold, primal anger seized him, freezing the last remnants of his childish persona.
Focusing his will, Ichigo silently channeled the Mystic Arts. He didn't need incantations or dramatic gestures.
He simply visualized his intent: pure, focused dimensional energy.
In the air surrounding the Grand Fisher, over a dozen needle-thin, razor-sharp invisible daggers materialized, vibrating with silent force.
Because the Mystic Arts drew on an energy source foreign to this dimension, a power entirely different from any energy in this world, the Grand Fisher could not sense the attack.
It was blind to its own demise.
With a mental flick, Ichigo launched his strike.
A chorus of sickening, wet thuds echoed only in the spiritual realm as all of the dimensional daggers simultaneously buried themselves deep into the Hollow's thick mask, the spiritual core of its being.
The Grand Fisher let out a single, piercing, gargling shriek of unbearable pain that lasted only a breath before it collapsed.
The massive Hollow disintegrated, its existence simply erased before it even hit the muddy ground.
It died instantly, without ever knowing what killed it, or why the lure had suddenly stopped working.
Ichigo stood there, his small hand still clutching his mother's, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm of adrenaline and victory.
He had successfully rewritten the most foundational tragedy of his life.
'I changed it,'
He thought, a rush of exhilarating power and relief flooding him.
He remembered Stan Lee's parting words:
"Remember, I have your back so don't worry too much about anything."
'I have a god watching over me,'
He concluded, a grin—equal parts cocky and determined—spreading across his face.
'I can live however I want! I will change everything. And this time, I will become even more powerful than I was in my previous life!'
Masaki, oblivious to the spiritual slaughter that had just occurred mere yards away, squeezed his hand.
"It's really coming down now, Ichigo-chan. Run fast so you don't catch a cold!"
She said, picking up her pace.