XX-level Hokage

Time lost its measure here. Ichigo Kurosaki couldn't even say how long he had been standing there—was it a second or an hour? He only knew that when Hideki Tsukishima's figure dissipated into tiny spiritual particles, the last words that lingered in his ear, "Go face yourself," were now weighing heavily on his heart like a stone.

The book had no binding thread; its pure white cover was as smooth as solidified cream, yet it was covered with spiderweb-like, blood-red scratches, like the blood vessels of some living creature pulsating beneath the skin.

The pages were closed, yet a chilling spiritual pressure emanated from the spine. This power was unlike the chilling aura of a Shinigami, the rage of a Hollow, or the sharpness of a Quincy. Instead, it was like a chaotic abyss, seemingly capable of devouring anything that touched it.

"Facing myself?" Ichigo repeated in a low voice, his right hand instinctively pressing on his waist—where the hilt of the moon should have been hanging, but now there was only empty fabric.

He cautiously looked around. The ground beneath his feet felt utterly numb, as if he were walking on flowing light. Even the flow of spiritual energy was completely still. There was no wind, no sound, and even his own breathing was swallowed up by this pure white expanse, as if everything had been frozen in some eternal moment.

He tried to mobilize the power within his body. The first response was the Shinigami's spiritual pressure, but when that familiar warmth surged to his limbs, it was as if he had hit an invisible barrier, swirling sluggishly in his meridians, and not even a trace of spiritual pressure could be emitted from his fingertips. He then tried to activate his Hollow power, but the violent aura belonging to Haku Ichigo in his chest fell into an unusual silence, as if it had been sealed deep within his soul by some force. Even the Fullbring energy that was most compatible with his physical body became unfamiliar and distant. The spiritual particles at his fingertips could not condense into any form, but could only dissipate into tiny specks of light in the air.

"What's going on?" Ichigo frowned, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He could clearly sense that the four powers were still dormant within him, yet they seemed to be bound by invisible chains, impossible to awaken. He took a step forward, getting closer to the Book of the Primordial—the blood-red markings on that book seemed to have become even more vibrant, as if responding to his approach.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch the book cover, the entire pure white space suddenly trembled violently!

Without warning or sound, a tremor originating from the space itself spread from the soles of my feet to my entire body. Then, countless images, like shattered mirrors, surged in from all directions, suspended in the void, each image reflecting him at a different time.

At six years old, he hid behind his mother, his little hands tightly rubbing against her clothes, his eyes filled with fear of strangers; in junior high school, he wore his school uniform, bloodstains on the corner of his mouth, yet he stubbornly held his head high, facing several thugs he had knocked to the ground; when he first saw the Void, his pupils shrank and his body stiffened, watching the ugly monster pounce on his sister Xia Li, yet he didn't even have the strength to move.

When he received the Shinigami power from Rukia, his hand gripping Zangetsu trembled, yet his eyes held a resolute determination. During his battle with Byakuya Kuchiki, he was covered in wounds, his Shinigami armor stained crimson, yet he still gritted his teeth and swung his sword. In Hueco Mundo, wearing the Hollow Mask, half his face was covered in black markings, as he struggled between sanity and madness. Facing Aizen and Sosuke, watching as the latter easily shattered his attacks, he felt a profound, bone-deep powerlessness for the first time. When using his final Getsuga Tenshou, his body transformed into spiritual particles, yet he still unleashed that final strike, solely to protect those behind him.

Every scene is so real that you can almost feel the temperature, pain, and emotions of that moment.

Ichigo's breathing became rapid, as feelings he had long suppressed deep within his memory now overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. But even more terrifying, scenes he had never experienced before began to appear within these images—

Kurosaki Ichigo, dressed in an ordinary high school uniform, walked into the house with his schoolbag on his back. Yuuko and Karin were preparing dinner around the dining table. Kurosaki Isshin sat on the sofa complaining about the clinic's business. There were no spirit tools or Hollows on the table. His life was ordinary and peaceful. He didn't know about the existence of Shinigami and Hollows until he was old and gray.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, whose entire body is covered by a black Hollow shell, with a mask covering half of his face, his hands stained with blood, and behind him are the ruins of the Soul Society. He has completely fallen into the power of Hollows and become the enemy of all Shinigami."

A boy dressed in Quincy attire, holding a silver crossbow, stands beside Uryu. He inherited his mother's Quincy bloodline but has never obtained the power of a Shinigami. Together with Uryu, he protects the peace of the world.

Ichigo Kurosaki, dressed in a captain's haori, sat in the captain's seat of the 11th Division in Soul Society, next to an impatient Kenpachi Zaraki. He had become the new captain of the 11th Division, spending his days chatting with his team members and occasionally returning to the human world to see his family. He had never experienced the pain of losing his powers...

"What are all these...?" Ichigo felt a splitting headache as countless memories, emotions, and perceptions of "himself" flooded into his mind, impacting his already crumbling self-awareness.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to distinguish which experiences were real and which were mere illusions, but those unfamiliar memories were too vivid, as if they were just…

He simply forgot.

On the blank pages, blood-red words slowly emerged as if alive, each word exuding a cold, mechanical quality:

[Observation Subject: Ichigo Kurosaki] [Existence Status: Unstable] [Parallel Probability: 80]

[Core Conflict: Confusion about self-perception]

Below the text, a complex tree diagram slowly unfolds.

The tree trunk represents his current life trajectory, and the countless branches extending from it each represent a different "Ichigo Kurosaki"—some branches lead to ordinariness, some to darkness, some to protection, and some to destruction.

His current position is at the central node of this "Tree of Possibilities," surrounded by countless branches.

Just then, a familiar voice rang out in the space, gentle and soft, like a spring breeze rippling across a lake, yet it made Ichigo's body freeze instantly. "A brilliant deduction, Ichigo."

Ichigo whirled around, his heart pounding in his chest. He saw a figure that could never possibly be there—Makoto Kurosaki, his mother who had been killed by a Hollow when he was six years old, standing in the white light not far away.

She wore a familiar white dress, her long orange hair cascading over her shoulders, a gentle smile on her face, and her eyes filled with affection for him, just as he remembered.

"Of course I'm here." She didn't answer his question, but simply smiled and took two steps forward. Her steps were so light they seemed inhuman, as if she might dissipate into spirit particles at any moment. "Because this is the convergence of all possibilities, Ichigo. In one branch, I didn't die; I stayed by your and Isshin's side, watching you grow up, watching you get into high school."

Her words seemed to possess a magical power, instantly conjuring up images of "his mother still being alive" in Ichigo's mind—his mother waking him up every morning, preparing breakfast for him, listening to his complaints about school, and bandaging his wounds when he was injured... The warmth he had never experienced before was now so vividly present before his eyes.

"But you still missed something." Just as Ichigo was immersed in this false warmth, Zhen's tone suddenly changed, and his gentle smile also...

It became cold.

Ichigo snapped back to reality, only to see his mother's figure begin to change—her long orange hair gradually turned black, her white dress transformed into her familiar Shinigami uniform, and the gentle smile on her face disappeared, replaced by a face exactly like his own.

In the blink of an eye, the person standing in front of Ichigo was no longer Makoto Kurosaki, but another "Ichigo Kurosaki".

This "Ichigo" is dressed in a pure white Shinigami uniform. Unlike ordinary Shinigami uniforms, his collar and cuffs are embroidered with fine blood-red patterns. His eyes are empty as if he has no soul, and he exudes an unsettling aura—an aura that is a mixture of Shinigami's spiritual pressure, Hollow's rage, Quincy's sharpness, and Fullbring's fluctuations, yet they are blended together in an incredibly strange way. There is no conflict between any of the powers, only a deathly harmony.

"You are... the person I have to face?" Ichigo took a half step back warily, his hands in a fighting stance. Although he knew he couldn't mobilize his power, he still instinctively made defensive movements.

Ichigo in white didn't answer, but slowly raised his hand.

As he moved, the entire pure white space began to twist and deform, rippling like water ripples after a stone was thrown in.

A moment later, the white light dissipated, and the scene before Ichigo transformed into a place Ichigo knew all too well—the Kurosaki family's living room. The living room curtains were drawn, and sunlight streamed through the glass, casting warm dappled patterns on the floor.

Yuuki and Karin were busy in the kitchen, the sounds of chopping vegetables and the sisters' laughter filling the air; Kurosaki Isshin sat on the sofa, wearing his reading glasses and looking at the newspaper, occasionally complaining, "Today's news is so boring"; a freshly made breakfast sat on the table, steaming and emitting a sweet aroma. Everything was exactly the same as the scene before he left home that morning, without any change.

"This is where you should be." Ichigo in white finally spoke. His voice was exactly the same as Ichigo's, but it was icy cold and devoid of any emotion, like...

He was reciting lines he had already written: "An ordinary high school student, from an ordinary family, going to school, coming home, playing around with friends, and eating meals cooked by his family. There is no void, no death, no battle, no death, and no loss."

"No, this isn't real!" Ichigo roared, swinging his arm wildly, trying to shatter the illusion, only to find that his arm simply passed through the air, having no effect on the scene whatsoever.

He tried to mobilize his power, but the four powers within him remained dormant, as if they were asleep and unwilling to wake up.

Ichigo, clad in white, approached slowly, his footsteps silent, as if floating on the ground. He stood beside Ichigo, his gaze falling on Yuuki and Karin in the kitchen. His voice softened, yet carried a more deadly allure: "Why refuse? Isn't this the perfect ending? You can live peacefully with your family, no one will die because of you anymore, you won't experience the pain of losing someone important. You won't have to fight anymore, you won't have to get hurt anymore, you won't have to watch those around you be in danger because of you..."

His words were like the sweetest poison, silently eroding Ichigo's will.

All the fears and guilt that Ichigo had buried deep in his heart were stirred up and magnified infinitely at this moment—the regret of not being able to protect his mother, the helplessness when he watched Rukia being taken away, the self-blame when Uryu, Chad, and Inoue were put in danger, the pain of not being able to protect his family after losing his power, the loneliness of being separated from Zangetsu when using "The Last Getsuga Tenshou"... These emotions were like countless needles, piercing his heart and making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

"Look at them." Ichigo pointed to Yuuki and Karin in the kitchen. The two sisters were smiling as they served the breakfast they had prepared. Their faces showed no worry, only the innocence and joy of young girls.

"They don't need a brother who deals with death all day long; they just need someone to be by their side, to eat with them, and to chat with them."

Ordinary family members celebrating birthdays together. Yixin also doesn't want to see you come back injured every time you go out, doesn't want to see you risk your life to protect others.

Ichigo's breathing became rapid, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his vision began to blur.

This illusion felt too real; his family's smiles were so warm, and that "ordinary happiness" was right in front of him, within reach. He even began to doubt.

Did my past battles really have any meaning? If I hadn't met Rukia and hadn't obtained the power of a Shinigami, would everyone have been safe and sound?

Just as his will was about to collapse and he was about to reach out and grasp this false happiness, something in his pocket suddenly became hot.

The warmth seeped through the fabric onto his skin, like a faint ray of light piercing the fog in his heart. Ichigo snapped back to reality, instinctively reaching into his pocket and pulling out a photograph.

It was a group photo taken in front of Urahara's store—he stood in the middle, Rukia was wearing a Shinigami uniform and had a rare smile on her face; Uryu crossed his arms, looking reluctant but not refusing to take the picture; Chad stood to the side with a simple and honest smile; Inoue held up his camera and also took a picture of himself in the frame.

The edges of the photo are worn, indicating that it was something he had carried with him for a long time.

Even in this illusory world, the photograph still radiates a faint glow, and the smiles of everyone in the photo are so real that you can almost hear the laughter they were having.

"...No." Ichigo suddenly looked up, his eyes regaining their resolve. The previous confusion and wavering vanished, replaced by the unwavering determination of Mamoru Kurosaki. "Indeed, I'm afraid of losing, afraid of hurting those I care about. I've thought countless times that it would be nice to live an ordinary life. But escaping reality and indulging in a false peace—that's not what they want to see!"

He gripped the photograph tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. The temperature on the photograph seemed to rise higher and higher, as if responding to his will.

"Rukia was willing to be taken back to Soul Society to be judged for my sake; Uryu, though he didn't say it, always appeared when I needed him; Chad and Nami, even knowing that the battle was dangerous, never gave up supporting me; and Mashiro, Urahara-san, Yoruichi-san, Isshin... they all fought for me and sacrificed for me."

If I choose to escape here, to forget these experiences, and to remember these important people, that would be the greatest betrayal of them, and a betrayal of all the battles of the past!

Ichigo's voice echoed in the living room, and cracks began to appear in the previously stable illusion—the laughter in the kitchen disappeared, Yuuko and Karin's figures became blurry, and the breakfast on the table began to fade, as if it might dissipate at any moment.

Ichigo's expression finally changed; a hint of anger appeared on his face, which was exactly the same as Ichigo's, and his eyes were no longer empty.

Instead, it was filled with cold mockery: "Si! You'd rather choose a painful reality than a perfect falsehood? You know perfectly well that in the real world, there will be more battles, more losses, and you might lose your power again, watching those around you die again..."

"Perfect?" Ichigo sneered, holding up the photo so that the white-clad Ichigo could see everyone in it. "You've taken away my connection with the people I care about."

The memory of our encounter altered everything I experienced, turning me into a person who doesn't even know who I am—what kind of perfect world is this?

Just then, a familiar warmth emanated from his palm. He looked down and saw the light in the photograph growing increasingly intense, with emerald green spiritual particles overflowing from it and flowing through his fingertips and throughout his body. Those spiritual particles contained Rukia's Shinigami spiritual pressure, Uryu's Quincy energy, Chad's Fullbring fluctuations, and even Mashiro's familiar, primal spiritual pressure.

Although his power is restricted in this space, his bond with his companions, a connection that transcends time and space and power, is helping him break through the invisible lock.

The four dormant forces within his body began to tremble slightly, as if responding to this bondage and wanting to awaken anew.

“It seems the negotiations have broken down.” Ichigo in white sighed, his tone tinged with regret, but even more so with a chilling killing intent. His pure white Shinigami robes began to turn black, the blood-red patterns becoming even more vivid, like flowing blood. “In that case, let me correct this mistake myself. You don’t need this kind of realism, you just need to become a part of perfection.”

He slowly raised his right hand, and black spiritual particles condensed in his palm, gradually forming the shape of a knife.

It was a knife that resembled the moon but was even more eerie—the blade was pure white, as if forged from moonlight, but the edge was wrapped with ominous black patterns, and the hilt was undecorated, just a deathly black.

"This is the Perfect Moon, the sword you were meant to possess." Ichigo, clad in white, gripped the hilt, his eyes coldly fixed on Ichigo. "Let me see if your so-called truth can withstand the power of perfection!"

Before he could finish speaking, Ichigo in white suddenly swung his sword! Wherever the blade passed, space twisted, forming a dark rift that carried destructive power straight toward Ichigo.

Ichigo instinctively tried to summon Zangetsu to block, but the power within him was not yet fully awakened, and the hilt of Zangetsu did not appear in his hand. He could only watch helplessly as the dark blade of light drew closer and closer, and the aura of death enveloped his entire body.

At this critical moment, a familiar voice suddenly rang out in the space, carrying a hint of composure, instantly dispelling the despair in Ichigo's heart:

"Looks like you need some help, Ichigo."

Ichigo turned his head sharply and saw a figure that should never be here—Kisuke Urahara was standing at the living room door, wearing his signature green striped yukata, a small black top hat, and holding the pink Zanpakuto, Benihime, with a familiar sly smile on his face, as if he had just taken a stroll from Urahara's shop.

“Well,” Kisuke Urahara lowered his green and white striped hat, obscuring his eyes and revealing only a smile, “let’s deal with the immediate problem first.”

Chapter 298: Rules are meant to be broken!

As soon as Kisuke Urahara stood still at the entrance to the living room, the entire pure white space suddenly trembled, like a lake surface where a boulder had been thrown in, even the stagnant spiritual particles in the air rippled.

White-clad Ichigo—who should now be called "Perfect Ichigo"—for the first time, cracks appeared on that face that was exactly like Ichigo's, and his empty eyes blazed with disbelief and rage.

Kisuke Urahara chuckled and shook the Benihime in his hand. The pink blade reflected the distorted illusion around him. His tone carried his usual arguing: "The word 'absolute' is always meant to be broken, you know. A certain guy with a wicked personality has broken 'absolute' more than once."

Then he changed the subject, his gaze towards Ichigo instantly turning serious, his fingertip pointing at Ichigo's translucent wrist, "Ichigo, don't just be shocked, look at yourself—this space is devouring your existence."

With every extra second you stay, your connection to the real world weakens. If this continues, you will completely become a possibility within this space, never to return.

Ichigo looked down sharply and realized that his hands and feet had become translucent like frosted glass, and he could clearly see the blurring "floor" below through his palms.

What alarmed him even more was that the spiritual pressure fluctuations in his chest were growing weaker and weaker, as if they might merge into the pure white space at any moment. "How could this be?" He subconsciously clenched his fists, but felt his body "disappearing" little by little.

Once you accept a possibility, your original reality is erased, and you become part of that possibility. Simply put, it's not creating an illusion, but rewriting reality.

As Perfect Ichigo's emotions gradually calmed down, his face was once again covered with cold indifference, but a trace of unwillingness remained in his eyes: "He's right, Kurosaki Ichigo, every second you stay in this space is moving closer to possibility."

Soon, you will forget the battles and pain of reality, completely immersing yourself in this perfect world, while your real self will disappear as if it had never existed.

“Unfortunately, your plan has a fatal flaw.” Urahara suddenly raised his hand and pointed to the photo that Ichigo was tightly rubbing in his hand. “That thing is the anchor point you didn’t foresee.”

All eyes were fixed on the photograph—the worn-out group photo, now radiating a soft yet resolute light—showing Rukia, Uryu, and...

The smiling faces of Chadu and Bing Shang seemed to come alive in the light.

Ichigo could clearly feel a warm power flowing into his body through his fingertips, resonating with his gradually weakening spiritual pressure.

"I see..." Ichigo suddenly understood. The stagnation in his power that he had felt earlier finally had an answer. "It's not that I can't mobilize my power, but that this space is severing my connection with reality. But as long as this connection isn't completely broken, my power won't disappear!"

He closed his eyes, focusing all his attention on the photograph, letting memories of his shared experiences with his companions flood his mind—with Rukia in the sky.

The warm cup of tea she offered when they first met; the fierce battle with Renji at Twin Princess Hill, his determination to protect Rukia even when he was covered in wounds; the back-to-back battle with Uryu in Hueco Mundo, where the two "enemies" became the most reliable comrades; and Inoue and Chad, who always protected him in their own ways whenever he was in dire straits... These memories are not illusions, but imprints etched into his soul.

"It's useless." Perfect Ichigo's voice pierced like an ice pick. He slowly raised "Perfect Moon," the blade pointing at Ichigo. "These so-called precious memories will soon become insignificant fragments. In the perfect world, you will have new friends, new daily lives, and you will never have to bleed in battle again, never have to experience the pain of loss again—isn't this what you've always longed for?"