Shuhei stood there studying me a moment.
"I don't remember any humans with abilities like his being reported in the area,"
It was more a question than a statement.
Rukia responded quickly, maybe too quickly.
"Karakura is a concentrated spirit zone, and after the Ginjō incident last month…"
Shuhei nodded as if that explained everything perfectly.
Lucky him because I had no clue what they were talking about.
"Ah. That explains it. We've had a spike in Fullbringers lately. Ginjō's mess stirred up a lot of dormant potential."
Isane nodded politely to me.
"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hunter. But you should keep a safe distance for now."
Ikkaku scratched his chin.
"A Fullbringer, huh? Figures. Got that weird human juju vibe."
I opened my mouth to correct him — "I, actually—"
but Rukia shot me a "do not talk" glare that could cut steel.
So I shut up.
The three of them turned back to Hiro.
Only Ryuko kept watching me.
Her eyes narrowed, glinting behind the glasses.
"…Lieutenant Kuchiki," she finally said, voice low, "the structure of this binding is not Fullbring."
My stomach dropped.
Rukia stiffened.
Shuhei glanced over.
"What do you mean?"
Ryuko stepped closer to one of the rods, her fingers hovering inches above the crackling lightning.
"Like I mentioned earlier, it mimics kidō architecture. Not perfectly, but… intentionally. Five-point elemental symmetry. Inversion flow. Containment lattice layered over an artificial energy well."
Her gaze lifted, landing on me like a blade.
"This is ritual magic."
That earned a intrigued look from Isane.
"There are documented cases," Ryuko murmured, almost to herself.
"Old. Obscure. Mostly Western Branch. But untrained humans should not be capable of this level of structural integrity."
Ikkaku grinned. "So he's weird even for a Fullbringer. Love that."
"Madarame—please," Isane sighed.
Shuhei looked at the lightning net, then at me, then at Rukia.
"You said he was just a civilian."
Rukia didn't flinch, but I could see the tension in her jaw.
"He is."
Ryuko didn't look convinced.
She adjusted her glasses, eyes sharp.
"Civilian or not," she said softly, "I will need the human's assistance for the transfer. His binding is stable — but volatile. If we force it open, it may collapse."
Her eyes locked onto mine again.
"Orion Hunter. Can you maintain your connection to this construct long enough for me to overlay a Kidō Corps seal?"
My heart thumped hard.
Rukia finally let out a slow breath — half worry, half something that almost felt like… pride.
"I can try," I said.
Ryuko nodded once, decisive.
"Good. Then let us begin."
Rukia
Ryuko approached Orion the moment the last trace of the binding finished lulling itself into stillness.
Her movements were brisk, exact — but her eyes?
Those were hungry.
Not in the grotesque, parasitic way Hiro had looked at us.
No — hers was the hunger of an academic discovering a new species of spellwork.
Something about the way she looked at him made my chest tighten.
"Mr. Hunter," she said, voice slipping into that unnerving Kido Corps politeness. "Your construct… the geometric layering was sophisticated. But the energy harmonics—"
She leaned in closer, peering at his hands.
"—they responded to my seal as if taught. Yet your reiatsu flow is irregular, untrained… even volatile. How do you shape it so precisely?"
Orion blinked.
"Uh… with practice?"
Ryuko stared at him like he'd just told her he'd baked a soufflé by punching it.
"That does not explain the resonant framework," she insisted. "Or the elemental invocation. Or the externalized conduit behavior. Your rods behave like artificial spirit anchors. Did you forge them yourself?"
"Hardware store," he said, in that strained joking tone and unconscious head nod.
Ryuko's expression was a stunned confusion, unsure how to process what he had said.
I felt my mouth twitch — dangerously close to smiling.
She circled him the way Mayuri circled fresh specimens, eyes narrowed in fascination as she activated a spectral scanner.
"Your symbols… western formulaic magic?"
Orion shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Uh… my stepfather taught me Wiccan stuff growing up? I just… did it the same way but with reiyoku."
Ryuko froze.
"I see," she whispered reverently, like he'd just told her he reinvented Kidō from scratch.
And then—
"FASCINATING!"
Orion flinched so hard his lightning sputtered from his fingertips.
I stepped closer — not enough to be obvious, but enough to make it very clear that if Ryuko began dissecting him with questions she would answer to me.
she even started taking notes.
And then, ruining the fragile peace:
In the distance, Ikkaku finished speaking to Shuhei and stomped over, resting his hands on his hips.
"Oi, Renji was right," he said, scowling at Orion. "All the weird, strong, mysterious humans always wind up around YOU."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because," Ikkaku continued, waving a finger accusingly at Orion, "you attract trouble like a Hollow magnet. First Chad, then that Quincy kid, then Ichigo, now THIS kid."
Orion blinked, offended.
"Hey, I'm more than just 'This kid'."
Ikkaku ignored him completely, turning to me.
"Seriously, Kuchiki — what is it with you? You got some kind of freak beacon built into your soul or something?"
Before I could respond, Orion leaned in slightly and whispered to me:
"…are all your friends like this?"
My eye twitched.
"Not all," I murmured. "Just the men."
Ikkaku heard that.
"HEY!"
Orion muttered under his breath, "I'm thirty, not a kid," then looked up at Ikkaku with a straight face.
"I do adult stuff like admit when I'm wrong about shit and apologize."
He turned to Shuhei and I felt my heart sink as he started speaking.
"For the record, I'm sorry for… misinterpreting your tattoo earlier. Culturally. The whole '69' thing. Thought it meant something else."
Shuhei, ten feet away, visibly froze.
Ikkaku's eyebrows shot up.
Then—
He laughed. Hard.
"BAHAHAHA! You thought Hisagi's number was a position?!"
Shuhei's eye twitched violently.
"Will you all STOP SAYING THAT OUT LOUD—?!"
Ryuko coughed politely.
"I agree. This conversation is distracting from critical binding analysis."
Ikkaku burst out laughing again.
Orion looked like he wanted to curl into a ball and die.
And me?
I stood there, arms folded, posture perfect — looking the picture of composure.
Inside, I was one hysterical giggle away from losing my lieutenant rank.
Ryuko finally snapped her notebook shut.
"Lieutenant Kuchiki," she said, "with your permission, I'd like to proceed with transferring the prisoner to Soul Society."
I nodded.
"Very well."
Her gaze slid toward Orion again.
"And afterward… I would appreciate a more thorough discussion of your ritual methodology."
He looked panicked.
I pretended not to notice.
Shuhei began tightening the chains of his zanpakto in case Hiro tried to escape during the transfer..
Isane prepared a stabilizing field.
Ikkaku cracked his knuckles loudly, disappointed he wouldn't get to hit something.
And I—
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself.
Because now that the chaos was settling, all I could feel was the echo of Hiro's words.
The things he dragged out of me.
The fears I couldn't bury.
The shame I tried so hard not to let surface.
I kept my expression calm.
Surprisingly everything went smoothly as Orion assisted in the containment transfer.
Orion
Near the ruined warehouse, just after Hiro's transfer
The lightning binding snarled and hissed as Ryuko stepped in to take over. I watched—half proud, half relieved—as she knelt beside the crackling lines I'd carved into the asphalt. Her hands moved with a precision I envied: precise, deliberate strokes of reiryoku stitching themselves into my makeshift pentagram until it settled, stabilized, perfected in a way only someone truly trained could manage.
A flick of her wrist, a seal snapping into place, and the cage stopped its angry twitching. Hiro's distorted form went rigid, pinned, the stolen reiatsu finally cut off from him like a tourniquet cinched tight.
Rukia let out a breath so soft I almost didn't catch it.
"Good," she murmured. "That went… smoother than expected."
She was trying to sound like a composed lieutenant—formal, controlled—but after everything Hiro had dragged out of her mind, I could still see the tremor under the surface. The faint redness in her eyes. The tight set of her jaw. She was holding herself together through sheer Kuchiki stubbornness.
Shuhei was already double-checking the bindings.
Ikkaku was sulking like someone stole his dessert.
Ryuko was murmuring calculations under her breath, adjusting the kido with frightening elegance.
And I—well, I was a human with a lightning sword and a pounding heart trying very hard not to get in the way.
As soon as Hiro was fully sealed, I stepped beside Rukia and gently touched her arm.
"Hey," I said softly. "Before you go…"
She turned to me, and for a moment the lieutenant mask slipped. Just Rukia looked at me—small, exhausted, fierce… and still somehow impossibly cute.
I swallowed, reached awkwardly into my jacket, and pulled out the manga I'd bought earlier.
"Here," I said, holding it out like it was a peace offering instead of one of the most brutally grim fantasy volumes ever written. "I, uh… I saw you eyeing the horror section before everything went sideways. This one's called Berserk. It's… uh… a lot. But good. Really good. I thought you might… y'know… like it."
I expected a quip. Maybe an eye roll.
Instead, her eyes went soft and wide.
"You… noticed that?" she asked, voice quiet.
Even softer: "I didn't even think we had time."
"Of course I did." My face felt hot. "You were trying to look like you weren't looking, but you kept glancing back at it, like… like you wanted to steal the whole shelf, but were too polite."
She blinked rapidly. Her fingers brushed mine as she took the book, and the contact was so light it shouldn't have meant anything, but it did. It meant everything. For the first time since Hiro had ripped open those private wounds, she looked… hopeful.
"I'll read it," she said. "Thank you, Orion."
Something warm curled in my chest. And then, because apparently I can't let a tender moment exist without messing it up, I blurted:
"So uh… why does it feel like all your friends want to beat my ass? Is it, like… a Soul Reaper hazing ritual? 'Welcome to the family, now fight this angry bald dude?'"
Ikkaku perked up immediately. "I like this one. He's got guts. Let me cut him in half a little, Kuchiki."
"No," Rukia snapped without even looking at him.
"But he offered! He looked me dead in the eye and everything!"
"Ikkaku," she said with the weary patience of a schoolteacher, "stop trying to duel my—"
She caught herself so hard she actually threw up her hands.
"My… ally."
She said it like it physically hurt.
I pretended not to notice. I failed.
Before this could escalate into a fistfight I would definitely lose, a Hell Butterfly fluttered down onto Rukia's finger. She lifted it, listened, nodded sharply.
"That was Captain Ukitake," she said, voice carefully neutral again. "A detainment corridor through the Dangai is open. We're to return immediately with the prisoner."
A twist hit my chest—part relief, part dread, part the aching awareness that she was about to disappear into another world. Again.
She turned to me, clutching the Berserk volume to her chest like it was fragile.
"I have to go," she said. "Just for the report. I'll be back soon. I promise."
I nodded. "Okay. I, uh… need to get my car and check in with the family anyway. They're probably freaking out."
Her eyes softened again. "Go. Take care of your family."
I wanted to say something real—I'll miss you, or don't shut me out, or you're not what he said you were—but the words jammed in my throat.
Ikkaku clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth.
"Next time, spar," he said with a grin that was half-threat, half-invitation.
Shuhei gave me one last long look, brow furrowed as if trying to read a half-remembered poem.
Ryuko bowed politely. "I look forward to… analyzing your technique, Mr. Orion."
Great. The hot soul-nerd wants to put me under a microscope.
Totally not intimidating.
I stepped back as Rukia and the others lifted the bound Hiro.
The gate to the Dangai split open in blinding white.
Rukia hesitated at the threshold—just long enough to give me a tiny, private smile.
Then she vanished into the light.
And I was alone on an empty street, the scent of ozone still hanging in the air,
"Better leave before the cops show up." I muttered to no one.