★Ichigo★

Gender of your choice

Karakura—"Empty Place." Even despite the town's old name, there weren't many residents, and not very few, but each time the number of people decreased rather than increased, because they were the ones who attacked.

Ordinary people didn't see it, and therefore there was no surge in the existence of spirits, but rather the most popular among humans—Empty Ones. They love holidays, the commotion, when someone on every side shields their gaze, and voices so loud they're deafening. It was here that Ichigo lived from birth.

For everyone he was Ichigo Kurosaki, and for you just Ichigo, friend and partner.

On New Year's Eve, wanting to distract Ichigo from memories of his deceased mother, they arranged a New Year's celebration, which often took place on the streets. The townspeople dressed in bright and colorful clothes, "attracting" good luck into their homes, and painted their faces as evil spirits, which often led to fights right in the square. Commoners were afraid and carried bags of herbs and grains to protect themselves.

It so happened that on this very day, almost from the very beginning of the day, you were attacked, and due to the large number of empty ones, this took not only energy, but also time, because of which you were already an hour late from the agreed meeting.

Barely catching your breath, you rose from the asphalt and, holding your zanpakutō, headed toward the busy street near the temple, where there were many people celebrating the New Year. You, with your clothes stained, your sword in your hand, your hair disheveled, and your eyes still sparkling from the battle, walked straight to the temple, pushing passersby aside with your shoulders, simply standing wearily in silence, ignoring their complaints.

After walking only ten meters, a boy next to you, whose face was painted scarlet, like a yokai, screamed:

“Oh my god... it’s empty,” the boy whined in fear, barely moving his lips in horror.

After a moment of stupefaction, he took a step back on trembling legs and looked at the incinerating hand on your festive kimono, the remains of an empty one. Without waiting for your answer, the boy turned around and ran in the other direction from which he came, holding on
repentance of the hand, so as not to collide.