Bleach: The Template System Chose Me, The Forgotten Kuchiki

Karakura Town, midday.

"Kira, did you see that?" Renji called, his Zanpakutō resting lazily across his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as pride lifted his voice. "That makes three wandering souls I've buried already, so I hope your wallet's ready, 'cause you're definitely buying dinner tonight."

Unwilling to be outdone, Kira Izuru exhaled with a half-scoff and crossed his arms as he replied in a low, calm tone, "You think three is impressive? I've got three too. We'll see who's really paying after the next run."

Before either could escalate the rivalry further, Hinamori Momo approached with easy grace, her Zanpakutō already sheathed, her expression composed, and her smile radiating its usual gentleness as she joined them without fanfare.

"Yo, Hinamori," Renji called out, lifting his hand in greeting. "How many have you purified?"

"Four," she replied with understated clarity, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face as though the number wasn't worth remark.

Renji's eyes widened as his head snapped toward Kira in disbelief, both caught off guard by how quickly she'd surpassed them. "Wait—four already?"

"I guess I've just been lucky today," Hinamori offered, her shrug modest and unassuming, the tone devoid of triumph or dismissal.

Renji narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and muttered beneath his breath, "If we're pulling threes and fours, then Brother Shiraha must've doubled that already."

Kira nodded with a quiet hum of agreement, his voice carrying a reverent note. "He's far ahead of us by now, no question. It's like we're on one field and he's playing a different game entirely."

With her eyes drifting downward and her voice softening, Hinamori added, "I really wish he could've joined us today. Things don't feel the same when he's not around."

Renji, always the first to push forward, didn't linger in silence for long. Waving them ahead, his eyes flared with fresh energy as he declared, "No time for brooding. Five more wandering spirits just showed up ahead."

Without waiting for a reply, he darted off in a burst of Reiatsu, and Kira and Hinamori, already sensing the trail flaring ahead like faint beacons in the spiritual air, immediately gave chase.

---

High above Karakura Town, Shiraha darted across rooftops with fluid precision, wind slicing past his form as the controlled speed of his Shunpo carried him like a flicker of thought through open sky, every movement honed, silent, and sealed tightly enough to leave no spiritual signature behind.

After covering nearly half the city through Observation Haki, his gaze sharpened, locking onto a specific, well-concealed cluster of energy where the rest of the spiritual terrain seemed to fold unnaturally—an invisible blind spot nestled deep within Karakura's core.

"That's it," he murmured, the words folding into the air as his body vanished once more in a high-speed blur, his destination now certain: the Urahara Shop.

---

In the calm courtyard behind Urahara's store, shaded beneath gently swaying eaves and bathed in the warm hush of late afternoon, Urahara Kisuke sat cross-legged with his paper fan flicking in rhythmic intervals, golden hair tousled by the breeze while a sleek black cat lay sprawled beside him, golden eyes half-lidded with watchful calculation and a tail twitching in quiet irritation.

With a subtle crease forming between his brows, Kisuke lowered the fan slightly and muttered aloud, "Strange… I keep getting the feeling someone's watching me."

But despite that persistent sense of presence prickling his senses, there was nothing—no lingering Reiatsu, no spiritual flux, just the soft rustle of wind through leaves and the occasional chirp of hidden insects. Dismissing it as nerves, he leaned back casually, though the unease hadn't quite faded from the back of his mind.

What he couldn't detect, however, was the unique nature of Observation Haki—an awareness technique divorced from spiritual pressure, utterly silent and invisible even to someone as perceptive as Urahara himself.

"Yoruichi-chan," he mused with a trace of fondness, his voice drifting lazily as his gaze tilted upward, "watching those Academy trainees running around like frantic sparrows takes me back, you know? It really makes me miss our old days at the Spirit Arts Academy."

Reaching down with an open hand, he moved to stroke the black cat's head—a mistake he made far too often.

The cat dodged with a hiss, swift as ever, twisting midair and lashing out with a clean strike that left two fresh lines of red scratched across the back of his hand.

Yoruichi Shihouin—former Captain of the Second Division, one-time Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō, and the noble heir of the Shihouin Clan—had no patience for unsolicited affection in her feline form, and was never afraid to remind him.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me like that?" she growled, following with another sharp strike that raked his cheek and left another vivid mark.

"It hurts, Yoruichi!" Kisuke yelped, clutching his face in a dramatic flourish that only half masked his genuine pain.

At that exact moment, the shoji door behind them slid open with quiet reverence as Tessai Tsukabishi entered the courtyard, his wide frame outlined by the light and a tray balanced in his hands, his short-sleeved uniform crisp, his glasses catching the sun's reflection.

"Manager. Yoruichi-san. Your tea," he announced calmly, his tone carrying the weight of centuries of discipline.

Once the Grand Kidō Chief of the Kidō Corps, Tessai moved with the quiet composure of a man whose every step was practiced ritual. He set the tray down with meticulous grace and waited for acknowledgment.

"Thanks, Tessai," Kisuke replied, recovering his posture as he reached for the tea with the ease of someone who'd repeated this ritual countless times.

Yoruichi, however, had shifted subtly, her sharp gaze narrowing as her head turned skyward.

"There's someone coming," she said, her tone clipped and alert. "Fast. Strong Reiatsu."

And as if summoned by the call itself, a figure stepped cleanly into the courtyard, landing without sound, presence fully manifest yet completely restrained, as though the air had simply shaped itself around him.

Kisuke, Yoruichi, and Tessai turned in unison, eyes drawn to the young man now standing before them with calm poise and unshaken bearing.

"Pleased to meet you, Urahara Kisuke, Shihouin Yoruichi, and Grand Kidō Chief Tessai Tsukabishi," the visitor greeted, voice steady and respectful, neither submissive nor overconfident. "Please don't be alarmed—I come without hostility."

Kisuke's fingers tapped lightly against the brim of his striped hat, his eyes narrowing with a glimmer of wariness. "You're from the Spiritual Arts Academy, aren't you? And somehow, you managed to find this place? I'm guessing that means you came looking for me directly."

Given that the Urahara Shop was concealed behind multiple layers of high-level Kidō—seals woven by none other than Tessai himself—it was inconceivable that a mere Academy intern would be able to sense, locate, and arrive at the exact coordinates of this place without triggering a single alarm.

And yet, this young man had not only located them with surgical accuracy but had also addressed each of them by full name and title, without hesitation or mistake.

Yoruichi's eyes slid from his face to the ornate hairpiece tucked neatly into his locks and the flowing silk scarf trailing from his collar—both marked by the distinct craftsmanship of one of Soul Society's most ancient noble houses.

"You're from the Kuchiki Clan," she said, her voice cool and sure. "Those hair clasps and that hōseki-obi—only the heir to the clan wears both."

Her certainty came not from mere guesswork, but from history; long ago, she had been Byakuya Kuchiki's personal Shunpo instructor, back when the boy still carried softness in his pride, before he became the stoic Captain of the Sixth Division.

"That's correct," the visitor confirmed with a composed nod. "My name is Kuchiki Shiraha. Byakuya Kuchiki is my elder brother."

Kisuke's expression shifted as recognition settled in, the tension in his body easing just slightly as his curiosity took the reins. "So you're that Shiraha. Tessai, could you bring another cup for our guest?"

"Yes, Manager," Tessai replied with a nod before disappearing into the interior of the shop and returning moments later, carrying another cup that he set before Shiraha with quiet deference.

"Thank you, Mr. Tessai," Shiraha said, bowing his head slightly before lifting the teacup to his lips and taking a measured sip. "The flavor is excellent."

Brewed from spiritual-grade leaves, the tea was one of the Urahara Shop's subtler crafts—perfectly attuned to the palate and structure of soul bodies.

Yoruichi, licking her paw in a manner that belied the sharpness of her next question, tilted her head and asked, "So, tell me—what does your brother say about me these days?"

The question carried more bite than her tone implied, and the tension in the air paused like a held breath.

Shiraha hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching as he debated between honesty and self-preservation. Byakuya's usual term for Yoruichi, whispered rarely but never without venom, had never changed.

Cat demon.

As a child, he had been routinely terrorized by Yoruichi's feline antics—his hair ties stolen, his dignity disrupted, his patience shredded. The nickname had seared itself into family memory.

"He doesn't talk about you much," Shiraha finally replied, carefully choosing each word like stepping across thin ice.

Yoruichi's tail flicked once as she let out a soft chuckle, amusement curling in her voice. "Typical."

Kisuke, watching the exchange with silent mirth, chuckled into his teacup. "Well, Shiraha-kun, you've certainly stirred the waters by coming here."

And beneath the filtered sunlight of the Urahara Shop's courtyard, where steam rose from porcelain and Reiatsu hovered like a second atmosphere, the start of something deeper took root—an encounter that would ripple outward, far beyond Karakura Town's quiet borders.