Kurotsuki Renya never imagined that he had awakened in the world of Bleach. And yet, here he was—in the afterlife, in the 78th District of South Rukongai, Nanami, face to face with none other than Rukia Kuchiki and Renji Abarai.
He wasn't a stranger to Bleach. It had been his favorite manga, one he looked forward to each week with anticipation. The ending might have been controversial, but he had always appreciated each character—especially Rukia and Renji, whose struggles had shaped much of Soul Society's emotional core.
But now? They weren't Soul Reapers yet. They were just orphaned souls in the slums of South Rukongai—no noble blood, no Zanpakutōs. Just kids trying to survive.
Renya stared at them, still struggling to accept the fact that he had transmigrated into the Bleach universe.
"Oi," Renji muttered, giving him a skeptical look. "Stop spacing out and come on."
Rukia gave a softer smile. "He looks lost. Let's get him inside."
They brought Renya to their rundown shelter—barely more than a straw-covered floor in a crumbling shack. No furniture, no comforts. Just cold walls and colder nights.
"This is home," Renji said with a crooked grin. "You'll be sleeping here with us from now on."
Renya bowed slightly. "Thank you."
Though his mind was mature, his body was that of an eleven-year-old. Alone and vulnerable, there was no choice but to accept their kindness.
"No need to thank us," Renji said, grinning. "Just don't slow us down. As long as we have each other, nobody can mess with us."
Renya understood immediately: survival here depended on unity. That was how they'd endured the brutal slums of Rukongai in the manga. Rukia had no noble family then—only these friends. It was this group who kept her alive until fate threw her into the Kuchiki clan.
And none of them ever made a big deal out of their kindness. When Rukia was adopted by the Kuchiki family, she hesitated—but Renji had supported her without hesitation. That was the depth of their bond. That's why they ended up together in the end.
Renya already recognized the rest of the group: Shinji Itegumo, Ichika Izumi, and Hiroshi Amada—the childhood friends who, in canon, had all passed away by the time Rukia and Renji became Shinigami.
Counting Rukia, Renji, and now himself, six of them crammed into the tiny space. Despite the cramped conditions, Renya quickly warmed to them.
"Grab the buckets," Renji said suddenly, peering out the window. "Time to fetch water."
Shinji and Ichika picked up the old wooden barrels. Rukia and Renji flanked them, while Renya and Hiroshi trailed behind with makeshift weapons—sticks, sharpened branches—whatever they could use for protection.
The outer Rukongai was nothing but wilderness and weeds. Once they left the street, the teens became visibly more cautious. Danger lurked everywhere—from criminals, feral souls, and sometimes worse.
After a short trek, they reached a narrow stream, its surface glittering under the sun.
"Hurry," Renji barked. "We don't want to be out here long."
Shinji and Ichika filled the barrels while Rukia and Renji stood watch. Renya remained alert, scanning the area. Once done, they started heading back, water sloshing in the containers.
But on the way, a group of thin, desperate-looking kids emerged ahead. They glanced at the girls and their full buckets, their eyes gleaming—but when they saw Renji and the others, they thought better of it and turned away without a word.
Renji scowled and waved his wooden sword. "Keep walking."
When they got back, the group set down the buckets. Renji grabbed several chipped ceramic bowls, handed them out, and passed one to Renya.
"Alright, time for dinner."
The others eagerly dipped their bowls into the water and drank deeply, guzzling it down with grateful sighs.
Renya stared at the bowl in confusion. "Dinner? This is just… water."
Rukia smiled. "That stream carries Reishi—spiritual particles. Not as rich as what you'd find in the Seireitei, but enough to sustain us. As long as we drink, our souls can keep going."
"I see…" Renya nodded, slowly lifting the bowl to his lips.
The water was surprisingly refreshing—cool, slightly sweet, and brimming with subtle energy. As it coursed through his spirit body, he could feel the fatigue fading and energy returning.
He looked at Renji and Rukia. "Aren't you going to drink?"
Renji shook his head. "I'm a fourth-class Reiatsu type. Rukia's third. We can absorb Reishi from the air directly."
Renya blinked. "Reiatsu classes?"
Rukia explained patiently, "Every soul has spiritual pressure—Reiatsu—which comes from Reiryoku, or spiritual energy. The higher the density, the stronger you are. First-class types can't sense or absorb Reishi on their own. They need to drink or eat to survive. Second-class types can passively absorb some. Third-class can actively gather it. And fourth-class and above? They can manipulate it, even use basic Kidō."
Renji crossed his arms with pride. "Third-class is the minimum you need to enter Shin'ō Academy. Rukia and I are applying next spring."
The other teens looked on with admiration. Becoming a Shinigami meant safety, power, and opportunity. It meant never going hungry or being afraid again.
Renya nodded thoughtfully. "So second-class means sensing. Third-class means gathering. What about this?"
He extended his hand. The Reishi in the air swirled visibly around his palm, condensing into a small vortex of glowing particles.
Rukia's eyes widened. "Wait… you can gather it?"
Renji's expression shifted to shock. "No way…"
Then, before their eyes, the particles ignited—blazing briefly in Renya's hand like a spiritual flame.
"You can ignite Reishi?!" Renji choked. "That's… fourth-class. How!?"
Rukia grabbed his wrist. "How did you do that?"
"I just… thought about it," Renya said honestly. "It didn't seem difficult."
Renji looked like he'd been struck. "Difficult? It took us over a hundred years to reach this level!"
Renya blinked. "A hundred years?"
Rukia nodded. "Yeah… Renji and I have been here for over a century. Souls age slowly. As long as we absorb Reishi regularly, we stay healthy. That's why we still look like teenagers."
Renya recalled the manga—Rukia once told Ichigo that she was over ten times his age. She'd spent decades in the Rukongai before even attending the Academy.
She looked at Renya closely. "You're only eleven. As your body matures, your ability to absorb and manipulate Reishi will improve. If you train hard, you might reach fifth or even sixth-class Reiatsu."
"What do those mean?"
Renji answered, "A fifth-class can use intermediate Kidō. They're usually seated officers—fifth or sixth seat. Those with sixth-class and above are vice-captain level. I heard from a Shinigami once—each team ranks their Shinigami by seat. If you make it to third seat or higher, you're basically elite."
Rukia grinned. "Our goal is to become seated officers."
Renya listened, intrigued. He knew their future—Renji would join the 6th Division, rise to lieutenant, and one day rival captains in strength. Rukia would become the 13th Division captain, mastering both sword and Kidō.
You both are going far beyond what you dream of now, he thought.
He smiled and asked the one question that had been burning inside him since he arrived: "Can I apply to the Academy too?"
Rukia nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Registration opens in March. We'll go together."
Renji grinned. "And we'll help you train your Reiatsu. With your talent, you might even surpass us by the time the exam comes."
Renya's heart stirred with something he hadn't felt in years—hope. These strangers had taken him in, protected him, and now offered him a path forward.
He could change everything.
And in the back of his mind, something darker whispered:
Change the future.
Protect what matters.
Do what must be done.