"Huh? Kurosaki is absent? And Ishida, Sado, and the new student Kuchiki, too…" The homeroom teacher stared at the list of excuses, a dull headache forming. The new transfer student, Rukia, was one thing, but Ichigo Kurosaki, Uryū Ishida, and Yasutora Sado were actually among the better-performing students in the class.
Especially Uryū Ishida—a model student consistently ranking at the top.
"Did they all go out together…?" The teacher scratched his head, muttering to himself.
Orihime Inoue glanced at the empty seats belonging to Ichigo and the others, her hand drifting unconsciously to her chest, her heart heavy with worry.
'Kurosaki-kun must be off training to get stronger. Sado-kun and Ishida-kun, too. I really hope they succeed… But only I…' In this moment, she couldn't help but despise her own perceived weakness.
On the other side of town, Uryū Ishida's reason for absence was, of course, to train his regained Quincy powers. His instructor was none other than his father, Ryūken Ishida.
Within the specialized training space—a Reishi-dense environment Ryūken had created in the basement of Karakura General Hospital—Uryū was locked in combat.
"What's the matter, Uryū? Is this all the power you've recovered?" Ryūken's demeanor was cool and detached as ever. He held a small, elegant Spirit Bow in one hand, forming glowing Reishi arrows with the other, and fired them at his son with relentless precision.
Thanks to his restored abilities, Uryū could once again use Hirenkyaku to dart across the space, evading the barrage. But Ryūken's attacks were faster and more accurate, forcing Uryū into a constant, desperate defense with few openings to counterattack. Even when he found a sliver of an opportunity, Ryūken's masterful use of Hirenkyaku to reposition left Uryū stunned.
'Damn it… Why is he so strong? Is his talent really that monstrous…?' Uryū thought, frustration mounting as he watched his father fight with infuriating ease.
"What is with that Spirit Bow of yours? All flash, no substance. It's even interfering with your Heilig Pfeil," Ryūken criticized, his frown deepening as he observed Uryū's large, cross-like bow. "Did your grandfather teach you that? How foolish."
"Tch…" Uryū had no retort. His grandfather, Sōken Ishida, hadn't taught him the bow's final form; its size and shape were things Uryū had developed on his own. He had tried mimicking his father's compact design, but whenever he shrank his bow, the power of his arrows diminished drastically, becoming too weak to even pierce Ryūken's defensive shots.
"Uryū, what kind of attack are you trying to achieve?" Ryūken asked, pausing his assault briefly. "A Quincy's Spirit Bow isn't fixed. Every Quincy's bow takes the shape that best suits them. Find the form that is truly yours."
Having offered this rare piece of advice, he resumed firing.
Uryū pondered his father's words, beginning to experimentally shift the Reishi of his bow, trying different configurations. But Ryūken suddenly ceased all movement, his attention snapping elsewhere.
"Ryūken? Why did you stop?"
"…Troublesome," Ryūken muttered, sensing a familiar spiritual pressure approaching from outside the training space. "Practice on your own for now, Uryū. I have to go speak with an irritating guest."
Without further explanation, Ryūken dissipated the training space and exited, leaving a confused and slightly annoyed Uryū alone.
Upstairs, in Ryūken's immaculate office, Amamiya Miyako stood quietly, allowing his spiritual pressure to flare softly. A moment later, the door opened and Ryūken entered, his expression as impassive as stone.
"Ishida-san. I've come as promised," Amamiya greeted with a polite smile.
Ryūken stared at him for a long moment before speaking. "First, tell me everything."
"Of course." Amamiya stepped fully into the office. "But for this conversation, we require absolute privacy." He first cast a simple Kidō barrier of his own.
"Do it thoroughly," Amamiya added. "If you have Quincy methods to prevent any form of eavesdropping, please employ them as well."
Ryūken eyed him, then reached into his coat pocket. He produced four slender Silber tubes and tossed them casually toward the corners of the room. They landed with a soft click, activating a Quincy seal that enveloped the entire office in a soundproof, energy-dampening field.
Satisfied, Amamiya raised his hand. "Then, finally… Manifest. Shinya Zetsunen." With a soft whisper, his Zanpakutō, Shinya Zetsunen, materialized in its sealed state, its unique spiritual pressure further saturating the secured room.
Witnessing such extreme caution, Ryūken's own demeanor shifted from annoyance to grim focus. Amamiya clearly possessed intelligence of monumental importance.
"Ishida-san. I have finally uncovered records pertaining to Soul Society's history… from one thousand years ago. I found them within the archives of the Shiba Clan, a former noble house."
Shiba? Isshin's family? Ryūken's eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn't known the Shiba were formerly nobility.
"Converted to the human calendar, it was the year 10XX. The Quincy King—that man, Yhwach—was defeated in that year. But according to the prophecy within the Quincy Zeichen, the year 20XX… the year I died… was precisely the year prophesied for his power to return."
"The reason I know this connects to us is because Soul Society recorded one of his unique abilities… the Auswahlen."
At the mention of that term, Ryūken's stoic mask finally cracked. A flicker of profound dread and understanding passed through his eyes.
"The Auswahlen is the method Yhwach uses to reclaim power from Quincy he deems 'impure,' absorbing it into himself. Cross-referencing this with the records of the Quincy extermination two hundred years ago, I learned of the distinction between Echt and Gemisch Quincy—Pureblood and Mixed-Blood."
"Myself, your late wife, and the other 'victims' I quietly investigated… we were all Gemisch. That is why, on that specific day… we all suffered 'accidents' and died." As he spoke, Amamiya accessed the original owner's memories. June 17th, 20XX.
The original Amamiya Miyako had suddenly felt all strength leave her body, followed by an unbearable, creeping weakness. Breathing became a ragged, agonizing struggle. The memory was vivid: a young man writhing in silent torment on his apartment floor, face contorted, desperately clawing for a phone, for air, for life—a slow, helpless march toward a terrifying end.
"The Auswahlen was the true cause of our deaths," Amamiya stated, his voice dropping to a near whisper. The quiet certainty of his words struck Ryūken's heart with the force of a physical blow.
In that instant, everything clicked into a horrifying picture. Ryūken finally understood why his wife had collapsed into a fatal coma on that day, why Karin had died. Why Masaki Kurosaki had perished. It was the day Yhwach had awakened and begun repossessing the power of every Gemisch Quincy across the world, stripping their very life force in the process.
Ryūken's composure shattered. His brows furrowed deeply, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles trembled, and his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. A cold, silent fury radiated from him. He didn't care about titles like 'Quincy King.' He had just been handed the identity of his wife's true murderer.
Quincy… Always the Quincy… The thought was a poison in his mind. He felt a deep, seething hatred for the very power that defined his bloodline. It had brought nothing but tragedy to those around him—his father, his wife, and now it threatened to ensnare his son.
Amamiya fell silent, allowing the weight of the revelation to settle. He, too, was haunted by the visceral, inherited memory—the sheer, paralyzing terror of feeling your own existence being siphoned away, of watching yourself decay and fade with absolute clarity. That profound fear of an inescapable end was now a part of him. It was the fuel for his desperate, relentless pursuit of power. Power to never be that helpless again.