Ding!
The elevator doors slid open. People filed out one after another. Higashi Shuuichi stood still, dazed.
Why was he here?
Wasn't this... the office building from his past life?
Turning around, he saw the jam-packed first-floor lobby behind him, a line stretching endlessly. Some were glued to their phones, some chewed on toast, others flipped through documents, a few fixed their makeup using compact mirrors.
Everything felt both familiar and strangely foreign.
"Hey! You going up or not? Move it if you're not—people've got jobs to get to, okay?!"
A security guard's impatient bark snapped Shuuichi from his trance. He instinctively stepped into the elevator with the others.
Was he... heading to work?
His mind blurred. That seemed right.
Wake at six, board the earliest train, arrive at the office lobby at exactly 8:51, queue for eight minutes, wait for the elevator, clock in at 9:00 sharp. Every day. Without fail.
Routine. Trapped.
As the doors slid closed and the security guard cursed him from outside, the elevator lights flickered—then the entire car lurched violently. No warning. It plummeted.
Screams erupted around him.
An accident? But... wasn't this the ground floor?
A dozen thoughts surged in Shuuichi's mind, yet panic never took root.
His heart pounded from freefall, but his brain remained eerily calm—lucid, even.
As if guided by instinct, his right hand stretched out and he chanted:
"Bakudō #37: Tsuriboshi!"
A net of spiritual energy bloomed in the unseen depths of the shaft, catching the falling elevator and slowing its descent.
But it wasn't enough.
They hit the ground. Hard.
The lights went out. Darkness swallowed them.
Impact slammed through his body, and then came the gore—red, shredded flesh, fragments of brain and skull.
Death. Swift. Absolute.
—
When Shuuichi regained consciousness, he was still in the elevator.
People were crying, praying, whispering last words into phones.
He lifted his hand again.
Bakudō... Tsuriboshi...
His body had collapsed, and yet here he was again—alive. And with that came memory.
He had crossed into the world of Bleach, become a Shinigami, allied with Aizen, acted as a double agent, then voluntarily undergone Hollowfication after assisting Urahara Kisuke's rebellion.
So this... this must be his inner world—constructed by the Hollow within him.
He wasn't supposed to suffer memory loss here. But maybe the total burnout he'd experienced before slipping into Hollowfication had scrambled something.
Was that vivid death scene just a hallucination?
Or a real memory?
Hard to tell. The elevator now looked fine. No blood. No bodies. Just the illusion of normalcy. The spiritual net he'd cast made it seem like they'd landed safely.
Instinctively, he reached for his waist. His Zanpakutō was there.
Of course it was. He'd just forgotten it.
Eventually, as panic subsided, the elevator doors opened again. The familiar orange of a security uniform greeted him.
Shuuichi didn't break the doors with his Zanpakutō. He didn't use Kido to escape.
Because no one found it strange he was carrying a Zanpakutō. Here, it was normal.
This world... was strange.
Even stranger, the Hollow within him remained hidden.
Not that all Bankai required fighting one's Zanpakutō spirit. The true requirement was understanding—a deep, intimate grasp of one's own power. Shuuichi had achieved that through countless trials.
Could Hollowfication be similar?
Whether Shikai, Bankai, or Hollowfication, every step was ultimately about one thing: self-knowledge.
That path took many forms.
Shuuichi wanted to understand this Hollow. What it was. What it intended.
Maybe, he thought, the Hōgyoku fragment wasn't inherently flawed—it didn't prevent perfect Hollowfication. It simply couldn't grant complete understanding on its own.
Arrancar's Resurrección was, at its core, a return to one's primal self. For a Shinigami, it was like unlocking one's Bankai.
If he could truly comprehend the Hollow inside him—even if born from an incomplete Hōgyoku—then he might still achieve a perfect Hollowfication.
And reach the state of a Hollow's Resurrección.
With that goal in mind, Shuuichi resolved to play this game the Hollow had crafted.
He wanted to see exactly what it was.
"Give me your hand!"
The man in the orange uniform reached toward him.
Shuuichi took it. Gripped tight. Stepped out.
The incident, though dramatic, caused no deaths or severe damage. The police arrived, took statements, then let everyone go.
Where would Shuuichi go?
Back to work, of course.
Damn corporate vampires. Not even a near-death experience earned time off. Worse—he was docked a full day's pay for being late.
Luckily, he knew this wasn't real. Just his inner world.
Otherwise, he might've snapped.
—
"In Seattle, Wings Gaming from China have just won the TI6 International Championship..."
"In a Go showdown between man and machine, AlphaGo, developed by XX Corporation, has defeated the world's number one player..."
"Germany takes the title at the 20th World Cup..."
Seated at his desk, Shuuichi lazily browsed the news, soaking in the surreal dissonance.
Everything was built from his memories.
That meant nothing here could exist beyond what he personally remembered.
The data was scrambled, illogical—impossible.
"So what's the Hollow trying to do?"
That was the real puzzle.
The logic behind this constructed world was... off.
And then a new thought crept in.
Could this be its Resurrección?
That would explain a lot. After all, Shuuichi's own Bankai functioned like that—manifesting psychological trials as power.
What if this world was the Hollow's true ability?
He glanced around. His coworkers typed, talked, filed papers—too orderly.
Shuuichi quietly drew his blade.
"Advance, Strategist. The one who commands weapons, commands people."
He stabbed a colleague through the chest.
Nothing happened.
No clone. No spiritual disruption. The coworker calmly turned to him:
"Can I help you with something?"
Shuuichi shook his head and withdrew the sword.
The man collapsed, vanished.
A moment later, an identical worker sat back down and resumed typing.
So this world operates on fixed parameters...
No action from Shuuichi could break its rules. He could only influence it when the world tried to absorb him into its systems.
Only then could he exert temporary control.
This revelation clicked into place.
But what kind of influence could he truly exert?
He had some theories.
He just needed more data.