Where am I?

Yamahiko found himself standing in a narrow street, his gaze traveling upwards to the overcast sky and then settling on the shabby houses that lined the sides. The crumbling walls seemed to tell stories of a time long gone, and the air hung heavy with a sense of stifling despair.

His attention was quickly drawn to a figure lying near the edge of the street—a person with a frail appearance, like a withered husk. The eyes were vacant, devoid of life, as if trapped between the realms of the living and the beyond.

Could this mean... I'm dead?

Images of chaos—collapsing structures, monstrous beings, and the overwhelming darkness—flashed through Yamahiko's mind. He remembered the turmoil, the impact, and then... nothing.

And now he was here.

Is this really me?

Yamahiko's bewilderment deepened as he observed his own hands, inexplicably smaller. Nearby, a puddle caught his eye, and he leaned over to catch a glimpse of his reflection—a youthful face stared back, framed by black hair, enigmatic eyes, gently pursed lips, and a complexion as pale as moonlight.

Is this my new appearance?

With a sigh, Yamahiko resolved to leave this eerie street and seek answers elsewhere.

Each step he took seemed laced with urgency. Suddenly, a face appeared at a nearby window—a face that sent a shiver down Yamahiko's spine. But it was just a face, belonging to an elderly man. Sunken eyes, sparse hair clinging to his scalp—the man glanced at Yamahiko briefly before retreating into the shadows.

An inexplicable chill washed over Yamahiko. The old man's gaze carried an eerie emptiness, a lifelessness that left an indelible mark.

Without second thoughts, Yamahiko quickened his pace, his determination to escape this strange place unwavering.

As he turned a corner, an open space revealed itself, flanked by a grand building. Two figures stood before it—the first was robust, scarred, and the second, a young swordsman holding a blade, guilt evident in his expression.

The moment they spotted Yamahiko, the scarred man's eyes widened with surprise. "Who would've thought we'd find a fresh soul here?"

The young swordsman next to him grinned, his voice tinged with curiosity. "I'll take care of this new soul. Let's see what my sword can do against him."

The scarred man chuckled. "Just don't mess it up."

"Understood."

The young swordsman's grin widened as he approached Yamahiko, step by step.

A mixture of fear and helplessness welled up within Yamahiko. If he were stronger, he might have dared to stand his ground. But now, reduced to the form of an eleven-year-old, what chance did he have against a foe armed with a sword?

Without a moment's hesitation, Yamahiko turned and fled. The young swordsman didn't immediately give chase; instead, he observed Yamahiko like a predator eyeing its prey.

Yamahiko ran as though his life depended on it. An alley appeared, and he darted into it, emerging on the other side, and kept running. Houses blurred together as he dashed forward, driven by an adrenaline-fueled determination to escape.

One turn, then another. Yamahiko's breath grew labored. A hint of desperation edged into his movements. But even as he ran, a chilling realization dawned upon him: he was slowing down.

It wasn't long before he felt a presence behind him. The young swordsman was closing in. Each heartbeat pounded in Yamahiko's ears as the gap between them narrowed.

He pushed himself to keep going, but fatigue clawed at him, his pace faltering.

As he stumbled forward, he chanced a glance over his shoulder. The young swordsman was nearly upon him, his sword gleaming in the fading light.

Yamahiko's heart pounded; it was as if the world had slowed down. He could almost feel the sword's edge against his skin.

But then, a sudden impact knocked him sideways. He hit the ground with a thud, breathless, disoriented.

Voices echoed around him—angry, defiant. He struggled to make sense of it all. Figures loomed over him, shielding him from the danger.

These weren't mere figures; they were protectors. The tallest, a fiery-haired youth, locked eyes with the young swordsman. Beside him stood a girl with short hair, her gaze unwavering.

The tension was palpable, a battle of wills. The young swordsman's arrogance clashed against the fiery-haired youth's resolve.

Upon seeing them, the young man's expression soured. With a disdainful snort, he remarked, "He is from our Kusajishi District, who've ventured into this area. Clear out, both of you."

The red-haired youth at the helm, eyes unwavering, countered with firm certainty. "I don't care where he's from. If he's in Inuzuri District, he's off-limits to you."

In the shadow of the red-haired youth, a short-haired girl's voice cut through, The short-haired girl's tone was equally firm. "Leave, now."

The young man's gaze shifted from the red-haired youth to the girl, a hint of wariness in his eyes. With a disdainful huff, he turned and left.

Once the coast was clear, a sigh of relief escaped the red-haired youth's lips. The short-haired girl approached Yamahiko, her eyes as pure as crystal. "Are you okay?" she asked, her concern evident in her eyes.

"I'm fine."

Yamahiko's voice held a touch of gratitude as he mustered a faint smile. Standing up, he looked at them and said, "Thank you for stepping in."

"Thank you for stepping in? Your choice of words is quite intriguing."

The red-haired youth's laughter resonated, a camaraderie in his eyes as he patted Yamahiko's shoulder. "We weren't saving you, just didn't want any Kusajishi District troublemakers causing havoc here."

Kusajishi District?

The pieces fell into place. This was the Inuzuri District they mentioned earlier. Eager for clarity, Yamahiko questioned, "Could you please explain where exactly we are?"

The red-haired youth's smile faded, replaced with an attentive focus on Yamahiko. "Ah, so you're a new soul, huh?"

"A new soul?"

Yamahiko's eyes widened, his question hanging in the air. "Are you saying I've actually... died?"

With a nod, the red-haired youth confirmed, "Indeed, you've departed the realm of the living. This is Rukongai's Street. You were originally in the 79th District—Kusajishi District—and now, we're in the 78th District—Inuzuri District."

Rukongai?

The word reverberated in Yamahiko's mind, sparking a mix of recognition and disbelief.

Noting Yamahiko's pensive expression, the short-haired girl's voice cut through, carrying reassurance. "No need to fret. Now that you're in Inuzuri District, you should stay put. Those troublemakers won't dare come here."

The red-haired youth affirmed her sentiment, his wooden sword hoisted on his shoulder. "Exactly. Despite the chaos, we're a band of orphans, looking out for each other."

Yamahiko nodded, absorbing their shared strength.

Curiosity gleamed in the short-haired girl's eyes. "By the way, what's your name?"

Yamahiko hesitated for a moment, then replied, "I'm Yamahiko."

"Yamahiko?" The short-haired girl rolled the name on her tongue before introducing herself. "I'm Rukia."

"Rukia?" Yamahiko blinked, her name again igniting a spark of recognition.

The fiery-haired youth grinned. "I'm Renji Abarai."

Renji Abarai? Yamahiko's heart skipped a beat.

As the words settled, he realized with astonishment that he was in the world of Bleach—the very manga he had known so well.

A chill ran down his spine. He had transmigrated into the world of his favorite story—a realm of soul reapers and spiritual battles.

The adventure had only just begun.