"Oh, shit!" A young man exclaimed, looking around. He found himself lying on a futon, the traditional Japanese bedding. But he wasn't Japanese, and he certainly didn't own a futon.

He stood up and looked around the room, which was quite small, containing only the futon and a desk for studying. The room had a traditional Japanese style—tatami mats, wooden flooring, and minimalist decoration.

He noticed he was wearing a blue yukata, which appeared worn out. On the wall, hung a shihakushou for male, and beside the bed lay a traditional Japanese katana.

"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered, his mind struggling to process the situation, his surprise was beyond what his brain could comprehend.

"Ahhh..." he suddenly screamed as his body collapsed to the floor. Sweat poured from his body as new information flooded his mind.

After minutes of enduring a severe headache, he began to recognize the circumstances he was facing.

"No way, right?" he weakly muttered, staring at the wooden ceiling.

"Fuck! This is impossible," he murmured, his body drenched in sweat, the pain too overwhelming for him to dismiss as a mere dream. His senses insisted it was reality, even though his mind resisted accepting it.

Turning his head, he saw the katana and smiled. Memories of this body flooded his mind. He now knew that he was "Hideo," a young boy from the outer district who had been lucky. His parents had saved a noble but were killed by a Hollow, and the noble repaid the debt by securing him a place at the Spiritual Arts Academy. Many souls gathered at the Academy not out of a desire to save the Soul Society, but to find a warm home and safety. It was the same for him.

He was fortunate to possess reiatsu, though it barely met the Academy's standards, landing him in Class D, where the least skilled students gathered.

"But I did feel my reiatsu increase a lot," Hideo muttered, exhausted, as he reviewed his memories from a third-person perspective, like watching a movie.

If his reiatsu had previously placed him in Class D, now it was closer to Class B.

'Is it something to do with my soul? After all, 1+1 = 2,' Hideo thought. He was the polar opposite of the original Hideo—serious and diligent, but held back by low talent and found difficulties with low-ranked Kido spells.

'Sigh! As people say, in the world of Shinigami, luck is everything. You need luck to get a good Bankai, or you're fucked from both sides literally,' Hideo shook his head, luckily, he was able to point out the current timeline because of his memory.

'According to Hideo's memory, a commoner was adopted by the great Byakuya family and then dropped out like a year ago. ' Hideo pondered, as the pain finally subsided. He felt like he could move his body again.

'So, the plot is about to begin soon,' Hideo thought as he sat on the futon, leaning against the wooden wall, gazing at the katana.

'Zanpakuto? Asauchi?' Hideo considered. Only a few Shinigami ever connected with their Zanpakuto Spirit and learned its name.

'Shit! I might have absolute talent/s and I'm pretty sure I'll never learn my Zanpakuto Spirit's name,' Hideo lamented. He picked up his Zanpakuto, and suddenly, a light shone. He felt electrified as an unknown force absorbed him.

A name entered his mind as his mouth moved automatically, "San No Kinsen (千の琴線)."

His Zanpakuto absorbed the light, returning to its original state as if nothing had happened. Hideo collapsed weakly to the floor, but fortunately, he maintained consciousness.

His Zanpakuto transformed into a wooden sword resembling a practice katana. It had no guard and looked like a simple wooden stick that one might find on the street.

He grasped his Zanpakuto, slowly attempting to draw the blade, but an unknown force pulled it back. He caught a glimpse of the blade, which was entirely made of glass.

"Shit... again..." This time, his body couldn't hold on any longer, and he drifted into unconsciousness.