Shinichi lay sprawled across the concrete, breath shallow, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to punch its way out. His body ached from head to toe—sore muscles, skinned knuckles, burning lungs. But none of that mattered right now.
His eyes, bloodshot and heavy, stared at the holographic screen still floating inches above him.
[Congratulations! You received a Black Ring!]
He blinked.
"The hell is a Black Ring...?"
The system didn't wait. It responded instantly, and what followed wasn't just a description—it was a manifesto for death.
[Description: When the Black Ring is activated, the system seizes full control over Shinichi's body, suppressing his consciousness entirely. In this state, Shinichi becomes a flawless killing construct—cold, calculated, and utterly merciless.
He does not think.
He does not hesitate.
He exists only to kill.
Every motion is designed for one thing: absolute elimination.
No wasted steps. No unnecessary strikes.
Every action serves a singular directive—terminate all threats.]
[Duration: 5 minutes]
[Cooldown: 365 Days]
Shinichi didn't move.
He didn't blink.
He didn't even breathe for a second.
His mind had gone blank—flooded not by excitement or awe, but by unease. A strange silence fell over him, like the world had gone still.
"...That's not a power..." he finally muttered.
"That's a fucking monster."
He sat up slowly, groaning as he leaned his back against a nearby telephone pole, still drenched in rainwater and sweat.
He wasn't done.
"System..." he muttered, voice low.
"I need more details."
The screen shifted.
[Combat Traits in This Form:
Zero Emotion: Shinichi exhibits no humanity. No speech, no hesitation, no moral restraint.
Flawless Efficiency: Every attack targets a kill zone—jugular, heart, mask-core, spine.
Unpredictable Movement: Uses advanced trajectory analysis to calculate counters before the enemy even attacks.
Pain Suppression: Damage received does not hinder performance. Pain signals are ignored.
Cold Aura: Emits a deep-blue mist that freezes the air and unnerves even high-level enemies.
WARNING: WHILE IN THIS FORM, SHINICHI IS A KILLING MACHINE. HE CANNOT DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN FRIEND AND FOE. WHILE IN THIS FORM HE HAS ONLY ONE MOTIVE: KILL AND DESTROY EVERYTHING IN FRONT OF HIM.]
Shinichi stared at the text. It didn't scroll this time. It just hung there. A sentence carved in stone. An unmovable truth.
He rubbed his face, wiping away a mix of rain and sweat, then ran a trembling hand through his soaked hair. His eyes were wide, expression unreadable.
"Fuck..." he whispered.
His voice cracked.
"I'm... actually terrified of this."
He looked down at his hands, the same hands that had trained all day, that had punched, lifted, bled—and now, potentially, could become the hands of a soulless executioner.
"Do I really wanna kill people?" he asked no one.
No answer came. Just the wind. The rain. And the faint hum of the system, still active, still watching.
Shinichi gritted his teeth, pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. His legs screamed in protest.
"I'll only use it..." he said slowly,
"...when there's no other choice."
He checked the time on his watch.
11:00 PM.
The training with Urahara was in one hour.
He sighed, shoulders sagging.
"No rest for the wicked, huh?"
He turned and walked home.
The rain still poured.
But he didn't stop.
Shinichi barely made it to his room. He tossed off his coat, crashed face-first into his bed like a corpse, and didn't move. The exhaustion from pushing his body past the brink had finally caught up to him, swallowing him whole.
But time was cruel.
That hour—his only chance to rest—vanished in the blink of an eye. His alarm buzzed softly. Then the window creaked from a gust of mountain wind, almost like it was calling him.
"Ugh... fuck this."
Shinichi sat up like a zombie rising from the grave.
He dragged himself out of bed, transformed into his Shinigami form with a sigh, and started his slow, reluctant trek toward the mountains. His yawns echoed across the silent streets of Karakura, blending with the sound of his sluggish footsteps.
---
The mountain air was cold. Still. And empty.
Shinichi stood at the base of the training ground, arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Tch... of course he's late."
Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. He was just about to turn around and leave when a voice finally called out from above.
"Ah! Sorry, Kisaragi-san!"
Urahara stood atop a boulder, waving his fan with a sheepish grin.
"I, uh... lost my way!"
Shinichi didn't even try to hide the look of pure disappointment on his face.
"Yeah. I don't expect anything from you at this point."
But then Urahara's expression shifted. His smile faded. His eyes narrowed, studying Shinichi's face with subtle intensity.
"Kisaragi-san… your nose."
Shinichi blinked.
"What about it?"
Urahara gestured toward it with a slight raise of the brow.
"It's… almost completely healed. That nose was shattered yesterday. It shouldn't even be usable for another week, let alone look normal."
Shinichi touched his nose with cautious fingers.
It didn't hurt.
There was no swelling. No fracture.
"What the fuck...?" he muttered.
Urahara gave a soft, thoughtful hum, tapping his chin with the edge of his fan.
"So… I was right after all."
Shinichi turned to him, confused.
"Right about what?"
"My theory," Urahara said, now serious. "About the Demon Queen's reiatsu. It's not just raw power or presence—it has regenerative qualities. Divine healing woven into the essence of her spiritual pressure. You haven't even accessed 5% of her power yet... and still, your wounds mend at this rate."
The words hit Shinichi like a shot of adrenaline.
He stood still, but inside—something twisted. Not with fear.
With hunger.
He hadn't realized how badly he wanted it. All of it. Every shred of power buried inside that throne of fire and ash. His hands clenched slightly, blood humming under his skin.
Just how far could he go…?
A sudden chime pulled him out of his thoughts.
[I don't have any business in saying this... but don't crave her power too much. Don't let her influence you.]
Shinichi blinked, startled.
"Huh? Where did that come from?"
[I won't say more.]
It was unusual.
The system—always sarcastic, dismissive, borderline feral—sounded… concerned?
Shinichi frowned, brushing it off, but the words lingered in the back of his mind like a splinter under the skin.
Urahara, unaware of the system's warning, continued on.
"So? Have you learned her name yet? For your Shikai?"
Shinichi scoffed and crossed his arms.
"Nope. She's stubborn as hell. Just keeps saying I'm not ready. That I'll know when I've earned it."
Urahara chuckled, rubbing his chin.
"So… how do you earn it?"
Shinichi shot him a flat stare.
"Are you seriously asking me that? How the hell am I supposed to know?"
Urahara let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Fair point. I suppose there's no manual for seducing the Queen of Hell."
"She'd literally murder you for saying that."
"Yes, which is why I said it out of earshot," Urahara said, smiling behind his fan.
The mood shifted.
Urahara unsheathed his Zanpakuto slowly, the steel whispering out of its cane.
His voice turned cold.
"Now that I know your healing is accelerated… I won't hold back tonight, Kisaragi-san."
Shinichi narrowed his eyes.
"You already broke my nose yesterday, jackass."
Urahara stepped forward, calm and lethal.
"Then tonight... let's see if you can keep both your lungs."
Shinichi gripped the hilt of his Zanpakuto, his breathing steady, his pupils locked onto Urahara with laser focus. Something had shifted. His posture no longer held the rough edges of an amateur. His stance was tight, his form honed, his spirit unshaken.
Then he moved.
It was like watching a bullet take flight. One moment, Shinichi was standing still. The next — he was already at Urahara's side, his sword slicing through air with a clean, deadly arc.
CLANG—!
Too late.
Urahara had tried to dodge, but not before Shinichi's blade grazed his oblique—shallow, but clean. The cloth of his haori tore, and a line of red painted his side.
He backed up, eyebrows raised, a grin curling on his lips.
"Well… that's new."
Shinichi didn't reply. He launched again.
Blade to blade. Fist to flesh.
Urahara blocked the next strike, but the sheer power behind Shinichi's blows had doubled since the night before. The training had worked — too well. Their swords clashed in bursts of sparks, spinning and twisting as the sound of steel-on-steel echoed through the valley.
Urahara ducked low — Shinichi's blade swiped above his hat.
WHAM!
A heavy side kick from Urahara landed in Shinichi's ribs. He rolled once, then pushed off the ground mid-spin and lunged back.
Urahara blocked — but Shinichi's knee drove into his gut with enough force to crack a boulder.
He followed it up with a brutal palm strike that blasted the air backward like a cannon, then spun with a back elbow that nearly caught Urahara in the temple.
Urahara leaned just enough — but Shinichi's shin kick clipped his thigh, drawing a wince.
"His hand-to-hand…" Urahara thought.
"It's not human anymore."
Every punch from Shinichi was like a demolition engine — fast, brutal, without hesitation. He was fighting like someone who had trained with monsters, not men. Every feint had weight. Every movement was purpose-built to break bones.
Urahara finally caught a punch and threw Shinichi over his shoulder into the dirt.
Shinichi bounced once, blood spraying from his mouth.
He stayed down.
Panting. Groaning.
And then…
He laughed.
"Heh… I actually… tagged you…"
Urahara wiped a trace of blood from his cheek and nodded, a rare seriousness in his eyes.
"You've improved. You're stronger than Kurosaki-san right now… but you've still got a long way to go if you want to save Kuchiki-san."
Shinichi forced himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his face.
"Then I'm going all out."
The mountain shivered.
A blast of black and red reiatsu erupted around Shinichi, spiraling upward like a demonic typhoon. Tendrils of hellish energy twisted around his body, pulsing with violent rhythm, black lightning flashing in his eyes.
"Hoh…" Urahara whispered, actually stepping back.
Shinichi exhaled — the breath escaping his mouth like steam.
He lowered his body, left leg coiled behind the right like a spring, his fingers tightening around his Zanpakuto. He wasn't standing still.
He was aiming.
Faster… he thought.
Faster than anything.
The ground beneath him fractured like glass.
The air warped.
Then—
BOOOOOM!
He vanished. A thunderclap echoed in his place.
Urahara spun in alarm—
Too slow.
CRASH!
Far behind him, a boulder exploded, sending stone shrapnel everywhere.
And in the middle of the debris—
Shinichi, embedded into the tree beyond it, half-buried in splinters, groaning in pain. His body slumped. A trail of blood marked where he had carved through rock.
"Fffffuck this shit! NOT AGAIN!" he howled as he flopped to the ground, looking skyward.
He touched his nose.
Broken. Again.
"FUCKING HELL!"
Urahara appeared above him, casting a long shadow, expression caught between impressed and amused.
"Kisaragi-san… that was incredible. That speed... If you could master it—"
"Forget it!" Shinichi barked through broken breaths.
"As soon as I took off, I didn't even know where I was! I passed my target and face-planted through a boulder!"
Urahara raised a finger and said with a gentle smile,
"Then you'll just have to crash into more boulders, won't you?"
The look Shinichi gave him could have killed lesser men.
"You… are the worst sensei in the entire goddamn multiverse."
"Yes, but I'm your sensei." Urahara chuckled, sheathing his sword.
"Great. Now carry me back. Again."
Urahara facepalmed.
"Fine. But if you bleed on my coat again, I'm billing you."
As Urahara hauled Shinichi over his shoulder, the boy groaned.
"Kill me."
"Already did. You crashed into a tree, remember?"
"…Touché."
---
The morning sun filtered through Shinichi's blinds, but he lay still, wrapped in bandages, staring blankly at his ceiling fan. "What has my life come to..." he muttered. Habit kicked in and he began push-ups, but he paused after a few, realizing he didn't need to anymore. The physical training quest was complete. Still, the silence left by the absence of that routine felt almost wrong.
With a shrug, Shinichi stood and stretched, the gears turning in his mind. "I should check up on the others... and see what kind of power Tatsuki has." He smirked. "Might be something fun."
Arriving at the familiar training grounds, Shinichi first spotted Chad inside a glowing yellow barrier, repeatedly striking it with his armored right arm—black and red, just like in the anime. "Yup," Shinichi muttered, "that checks out."
Then his eyes shifted.
Tatsuki stood across from the black cat, Yoruichi. "We will now begin combat training," the cat said. Then, with a flash of white light, her form changed. Her sleek dark skin and regal posture appeared first, then her signature long purple hair and striking golden eyes.
"W-WAIT! Y-YOU'RE A WOMAN?!" Tatsuki blurted.
Yoruichi smiled, unfazed. "Yup. But we don't have time for that. Arisawa. Transform."
Shinichi's eyes lit up. "Here we go... show me what you've got, Tatsuki."
Tatsuki exhaled slowly. Her muscles tensed. A guttural growl escaped her throat. Her pupils morphed into golden slits. Her teeth sharpened—canines elongating. White fur sprouted along her forearms. Her fingers twisted and extended into thick, curved claws that looked like they could cut steel. She looked wild, primal.
And she was in control. For now.
She launched herself toward Yoruichi, closing the distance in a blur. Her claws swung with precision and raw aggression. Yoruichi dodged effortlessly, weaving around Tatsuki's attacks, parrying her limbs with open palms.
"You're fast," Yoruichi noted mid-dodge, grinning. "But you're swinging with emotion, not precision."
Tatsuki snarled and delivered a spinning kick. Yoruichi ducked low and swept her leg out, toppling Tatsuki to the dirt.
"Control that anger. Use it, don't let it use you."
Tatsuki spat dirt from her mouth and growled louder. Her swings became more erratic, more feral. One claw caught Yoruichi across the cheek, a faint trickle of blood running down.
Yoruichi's eyes narrowed.
CRACK!
Her foot connected squarely with Tatsuki's face, knocking a fang clean out of her mouth.
The hit only enraged Tatsuki further.
She dropped to all fours, digging her claws into the earth. Her eyes burned gold, and she rushed forward at terrifying speed. Yoruichi was no longer dodging with ease. One kick from Tatsuki's back legs landed on Yoruichi's torso, sending her sliding back.
"She's losing it... she's not in control anymore..." Yoruichi muttered.
Then—
CRASH!
A vase shattered to the side. Shinichi, hands raised, looked dumbfounded. "Why the fuck is there a vase here?!"
Dust swirled as a primal screech echoed from Tatsuki. Her feral gaze locked onto Shinichi. She bolted, claws gleaming.
BOOM!
A cloud of dirt exploded as Tatsuki launched herself.
When the dust cleared, she was inches from Shinichi, both her arms caught in his hands. His grip was firm, unwavering.
His golden eyes stared into hers.
"The hell is wrong with you... damn furry."
Tatsuki growled, trying to bite.
"No. Bad." He held her tighter. "You wanna rip my throat out, chill."
Her breath was ragged. Her claws still trembled in his grip.
Yoruichi, watching from afar, gave a small nod. "Interesting... very interesting."
Shinichi, meanwhile, just sighed. "My life keeps getting weirder."
And the vase? Still broken.
Unacceptable.