The transition from a quiet life in Karakura Town to the high-stakes world of the Bach family was like being hit by a spiritual truck.
Ichigo didn't even have twenty-four hours to unpack his bags before the "Grandpa Juha" training camp began.
That first evening in the penthouse was a nightmare of etiquette.
Ichigo sat at a long, silver-threaded dining table, his back aching from the posture he was forced to maintain.
An elderly man in a sharp suit, one of the Sternritter who worked as Juha's personal butler, stood behind him with a small wooden ruler.
"Posture, Young Master Ichigo,"
The man murmured.
"A noble does not slouch. A noble is the pillar upon which the world rests."
Ichigo let out a long, heavy sigh. He had spent his previous life fighting monsters, swinging a giant cleaver, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Now, he was being told that the way he held a salad fork was a matter of life and death.
I hated this stuff when the Kuchiki family talked about it, and I hate it now, Ichigo thought, his head beginning to throb.
"Grandpa, do I really need to know which spoon is for the soup?"
Ichigo asked, trying to keep his voice polite.
Juha Bach looked up from his own plate, his eyes sharp.
"Knowledge is a weapon, Ichigo. If you enter a room and do not know the rules, you have already lost. You must be perfect. You must be untouchable. If you cannot master a dinner table, how will you master a boardroom or a battlefield?"
Ichigo rubbed his temples. The headache was real.
He had the power of the Phoenix dormant in his chest and Adamantium in his bones, but he was currently being defeated by a napkin.
"Fine,"
Ichigo muttered.
"I'll learn the spoons."
The next morning came far too early.
A black car—sleeker and more expensive than the limo from the day before—waited outside to take him to his new life.
The Baxter Academy for the Gifted was not a normal school.
It was a massive complex of glass and steel in the middle of Manhattan.
As Ichigo stepped out of the car, he saw kids his age carrying tablet computers and talking about things like "quantum physics" and "biochemical engineering."
Ichigo adjusted the collar of his expensive school uniform.
He felt like a total fraud.
'I'm a fighter, not a scientist,'
He told himself.
'I only got through school back home because I studied hard to keep my dad off my back. These kids are actual geniuses.'
But as he walked through the halls, his enhanced mind—upgraded by the "Old Man" in the void—began to pick up on things.
He could hear the hum of the electricity in the walls.
He could see the patterns in the math equations written on the glass whiteboards.
Without even trying, his brain was solving problems that the other students were struggling with.
He didn't know it yet, but the cosmic gifts he had received had turned his brain into a supercomputer.
He wasn't just "smart" for a kid; he was becoming one of the most talented individuals on the planet.
Before he could join a class, the school demanded a placement test.
The Headmaster, a thin man with a very impressed expression, led Ichigo to a private room.
"Since you are a Bach, we expect much,"
The man said.
"This test covers advanced mathematics, three languages, and high-level logic. Take your time. You have four hours."
Ichigo looked at the paper. To his surprise, the questions felt... simple. It was like looking at a children's coloring book.
The math problems practically solved themselves in his head.
The languages—English, German, and Japanese—were things he already knew or understood through the "Mystic Arts" knowledge tucked away in his mind.
He finished the entire four-hour test in forty-five minutes.
When the results came back, the Headmaster nearly dropped his glasses.
It was a perfect score. Not a single mistake.
Even the "bonus" questions designed for college students were answered with perfect clarity.
Back at the Wandenreich Tower, Juha Bach received the digital report.
For the first time in years, the Sternritter saw their leader do something truly shocking.
He picked up his phone and began making calls.
"Yes, Robert? It's Juha. My grandson just took the Baxter entrance exam. Full marks. Yes, a perfect score. I told you the boy was a masterpiece. Tell the board of directors. I want a celebratory dinner planned."
He called his business rivals. He called his allies.
He even called a man named Howard, just to brag that a Bach was officially smarter than any Stark.
Ichigo had become Juha's favorite "trophy," and the old man was loving every second of it.
Finally, it was time for Ichigo to actually enter his new classroom.
The teacher, a woman who looked like she hadn't slept in a week, pointed to an empty desk in the middle of the room.
"Class, this is Ichigo Kurosaki-Bach. Please be welcoming,"
She drowned.
Ichigo walked down the aisle, keeping his head down.
He just wanted to sit down and figure out how to survive the day.
But as he reached his seat, he felt a familiar spiritual "spark." It was a cold, sharp, and very precise energy.
He turned his head to the right.
Sitting in the desk next to him was a boy with neatly combed hair and blue-rimmed glasses.
He was sewing a small, intricate design onto a piece of white fabric hidden under his desk.
His expression was serious, a bit arrogant, and very lonely.
Uryu Ishida.
Ichigo's heart skipped a beat. His feet almost moved on their own.
He wanted to reach out, grab Uryu's shoulder, and yell, "You're here! You're actually here!"
But he stopped himself just in time.
His hand gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white.
In this world, they weren't the "Double Ichigo" team.
They weren't friends who had fought through hell together. To this Uryu, Ichigo was just another rich kid with a famous last name.
Uryu looked up from his sewing, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
He looked at Ichigo's expensive uniform and the way the teacher had introduced him with such importance.
Uryu's expression turned cold. It was the "Quincy Prince" look—the one he used to wear back in Karakura Town before they became friends.
He looked at Ichigo like he was a nuisance, a fly that had just landed on his desk.
"Don't stare,"
Uryu said, his voice quiet but sharp.
"It's rude. Just sit down and try not to be a distraction."
Ichigo blinked. The coldness in Uryu's voice hurt more than Gillian's Cero.
But beneath the hurt, there was a spark of hope. Uryu existed. He was here, in New York, at the same school.
'He doesn't know me,'
Ichigo thought, slowly sitting down.
'He doesn't remember the battles or the hospital roof. But that's okay.'
Ichigo looked at the chalkboard, a small, hidden smile forming on his face.
'I changed my mom's fate. I changed my own. Now, I just have to find a way to make my best friend like me all over again. And with the powers I have now... I think I can make that happen.'
Uryu glanced at the orange-haired boy out of the corner of his eye.
He felt something strange—a weird sense of familiarity, as if he had seen this boy in a dream.
But he pushed the feeling away and went back to his stitching.
"Rude kids,"
Uryu muttered under his breath.
Ichigo heard it perfectly thanks to his enhanced hearing. He chuckled softly.
"You have no idea, Uryu,"
He whispered.
The teacher started the lesson, but for Ichigo, the real game had just begun.
He was in a world of billionaires, superheroes, and long-lost friends. It was going to be a lot more "interesting" than Stan Lee had promised.