Chapter Text
Urahara Kisuke detects the anomaly for the first time one morning in mid-February.
Ever since that unfortunate tragedy with Kurosaki Masaki and Grand Fisher seven years ago, Urahara became infinitely more studious in cataloging traces of unfamiliar reiryoku entering or leaving Karakura town’s perimeter. A suite of detection protocols, which may be best described as excessive-bordering-on-insanity, are set to alert him the second someone or something unexpected approaches.
Hollow activity has been at an all time low these past few weeks, so Urahara’s first assumption is the precursor to a new wave set to sweep through the city.
In which case, he would instruct Jinta and Ururu to assist Tessai in culling the worst of it. Exercise and a shakeup in their routine would do those children a world of good.
Ururu’s demure nature wouldn’t allow her to openly grumble about tedious work or general boredom, but Jinta’s been complaining often and loudly that he's going stir crazy lately. A few light skirmishes against low-grade Hollows would work that restless energy out of their systems, and Urahara trusted Tessai to keep their collateral damage to an acceptable minimum.
Urahara’s second assumption was a new shinigami has finally arrived to assume their post as this town’s guardian. Their rotations typically lasted one-to-two months before a replacement is sent from Soul Society. Now he thinks about it, it’s around that for new blood.
In which case, depending on how the situation plays out, Urahara may be able to enact his plan sooner than anticipated.
Those speculations grind to a swift halt when closer examination reveals that this unknown reiryoku trundling into town traces back to a human.
Astonishing.
Curious.
But not necessarily suspicious by itself.
At least, not yet.
It's hardly unprecedented. Humans born with naturally high concentrations of reiryoku do occur once-in-a-blue-moon. Especially in spiritually rich locations similar to Karakura town. Urahara knows there's a travelling television mystic by the name of Don Kanoji, who unabashedly styles himself as the century's premiere spiritual medium. Though he admits only tangentially awareness of the man’s limited capabilities, if only because Ururu and Jinta are fans of the overinflated grandstander and Urahara can’t help snatching occasional minutes of his comical excuse for a series.
What makes Urahara think twice about this new arrival, however, is the fact he’s never observed a human exuding an untapped reiryoku of this magnitude before. Not without special circumstances in play, like with young Kurosaki Ichigo or Ishida Uryuu. A cursory measure from his instruments reveals that while it may not hold the same quantity as the former child, it’s certainly comparable in density.
Quite suddenly, ‘curious’ and ‘astonishing’ morphs into 'slightly suspicious' and ‘potentially sinister’.
That shift leads Urahara to consider if this anomaly is truly human at all.
Bizarre as the idea was, Urahara briefly entertained the stray thought that this new person was a stray Quincy. But he quickly dismissed that possibility out of hand. His experience with those maligned beings informed him they dealt primarily in secrets and subtlety. Preferring to remain hidden and isolated, even from each other.
Plus there were terribly compelling reasons why no more of that particular breed would traipse through Karakura anytime soon. Or anywhere else for that matter.
A strong consideration is this may be another ploy by Aizen. A new type of weapon cloaked in subterfuge. A creation cunningly wrought and cloaked in the trappings of humanity, designed to hide itself until the opportune moment then strike out on a pre-programed kill command.
Urahara wouldn't put the notion past Aizen.
Historically speaking, it wouldn't even be the first time Aizen Sousuke allowed such an experiment to run rampant in the wilds merely to observe the results. Certainly not the first time he’d done so in the human world either.
Ultimately Urahara decides his best option is to investigate the matter personally. He can confirm his suspicions and determine the appropriate action.
If this new person is nothing more than an unusually powerful human, Urahara may leave them be. Perhaps he could befriend them, enlist their aid in the future. A great many battles will be fought soon and every bit helps.
Perhaps, they might come to him of their own accord. A reiryoku that dense would be a walking magnet for any Hollows prowling the region. And Urahara’s done worse over his lifetime than to engineer a situation where someone would come to him for aid.
On the other hand, if this new person proves themselves as a less-than-friendly individual, Urahara will analyse the potential risks and, if required, contain the situation.
As it turns out, tracking down the reiryoku’s owner is laughably easy.
Despite the congregating wholes clouding his senses in Karakura central, it takes Urahara less than 24 hours to confirm where this newcomer has taken residence. (The moving truck and helpers lugging packed cardboard boxes into the eight story stucco apartment somewhat helps give it away.)
If this person is one of Aizen’s lackeys they’re incredibly brazen, demonstrating zero interest in masking their location. Frankly, the distinct lack of caution is enough to practically kill the theory outright.
Regardless, Urahara keeps his guard up.
As a scientist and ex-assassin, he’s learned over his long career that one must never discount any possibility, no matter how remote. Ignoring any detail, regardless of how trivial it seems, is costly. The only way one can truly determine if a detail is irrelevant is with the benefit of hindsight.
Compounding his present suspicions is the fact there’s something strange about this reiryoku he can’t quite put his finger on. He almost wants to say he recognizes it on some level, but for the life of him he doesn’t know why. If nothing else, answering that curiosity fuels his desire to interrogate this mystery.
Another week passes by before Urahara gets a proper look at the person in question, watching as he exit his new apartment through the security gate from a concealed rooftop perch.
From this distance, Urahara can’t make any discernible features but his build marks him as a young adult, a tall one at that, wearing jeans, a thick grey hoodie, a shock of black hair that he keeps warm under a grey beanie and a pair of glasses.
The outings persist every other day and are completely innocent on the surface, filled with the aimless meandering a tourist typically conducts when scoping out the local hotspots or tourist traps. The young man catches buses to shrines in the outskirts and pays the appropriate respects, takes day trips on trains and locates particularly peaceful spots around town to admire the view.
Urahara notes a preference for spots looking over the water, with a particular liking to the view from Karakura bridge.
This pattern of behaviour persists for another week with no sign of malicious intention or anything overtly suspicious.
The only thing truly out-of-the-ordinary for typical humans is this young man’s penchant for speaking with the local hauntings. He greets the lingering wholes, stays a while to listen to their stories, then moves on. Urahara’s even seen him purchase replacement flowers for a young child’s memorial that hoodlums destroyed earlier that day.
Intriguing.
He knows Kurosaki Ichigo sometimes does that too. They might get along if they ever met.
A frown creases his brow. Perhaps, he reasons with himself, he is overthinking things after all.
An agent embroiled in Aizen’s schemes would never concern themselves with a garden variety wholes.
(Or this might be an example of pre-programed behaviour, to allow his latest pawn to get into Kurosaki Ichigo's good graces. Urahara knows Aizen likely monitors every inch of this town and would recognise the habit. Unorthodox it may be, but it'd be trivial to strike up a bizarre kind of kinship over such a singular trait. Ichigo's lineage is certainly unique enough to draw Aizen's attention, and that level of callous manipulation of is fully within his capabilities. Either through science or his zanpakutou.)
Fortunately, an opportunity to actually speak to the young man presented itself soon enough.
On one of his walks through the central plaza, the young man abruptly breaks his aimless trek and takes a seat at the public piano nested right outside the mall entrance.
And he plays.
He plays incredibly well. The plaza is filled with soothing and homely melodies. Passersby come and go, some stay to record the performance on their phones.
Urahara watches him from across the plaza. This close that sense of vague familiarity rears its head again. It's a nagging feeling, like the answer is on the tip of his tongue. When Urahara finally catches a glimpse of his profile, he lets out an involuntary gasp of shock and understands why.
He doesn't see a human. He sees a dead shinigami. He sees Lieutenant Shiba Kaien, late of the 13th Division. The black hair and the ocean blue eyes could've been coincidental, but remove the narrow-framed glasses and the pair of silver hoops on each ear, and it's definitely a younger Shiba Kaien's face. And now that Urahara's made the mental connection, he recognizes the blaring reiryoku as being incredibly similar to the late Lieutenant's. The taste of saltwater, the choppy waves crashing against rocky shores.
Almost, but not quite.
This is cruel. Urahara thinks, recovering. His lips set in a grim line. Even for Aizen Sousuke, this is cruel.
The impromptu performance concludes after about 45 minutes, there’s applause and the Shiba-lookalike returns to his previous circuit. Urahara observes this lookalike with renewed intensity, noting he's much younger than he anticipated. Perhaps 17 or 18 years old.
Ignoring the reiryoku issue, most teenagers are at school or a part-time job this time of day. But this lookalike simply wanders about the town. Perhaps he hasn’t had the chance to transfer properly into a local high school to establish a cover? Or perhaps, this young man is playing the part of a typical teenaged delinquent.
Urahara's frown deepens. The optimist in him wants to believe this is all a magnificent coincidence, that this has nothing to do with Aizen at all, but he doesn't believe in coincidences. He needs more information.
Five minutes later, when the lookalike has sat himself down in the public food court, happily digging into a botamochi snack box, Urahara makes his approach.
“You’re a remarkably skilled pianist.” Urahara begins conversationally, eyes hidden under the brim of his hair and gestures to the empty seat across from him. "I was wondering if I might join you?"
The lookalike rather surreptitiously pulls his food closer. Indeed he wears Shiba Kaien's face. A much younger version of it. There's remnants of baby fat visible in the contours of his face, but there's no denying it up close. He has the jawline, the cheekbones, the eye shape. There's also significant dark fatigue lines under those eyes.
The lookalike glances around. "I don't see anyone else about to take it."
Urahara inclines his head in gratitude, taking the seat and retrieving his fan from his pocket to fiddle with. His cane rests on the chair's arm, though he's quite confident he can shoot of several bakudos before this young man can cause any harm.
Urahara continues pleasantly. “I'll say again, you're an exceptional player. Have you been practicing for a long time?”
The lookalike shrugs, swallowing down his snack and stabbing his wooden knife into another piece.
"Suppose so. Not that hard, to be honest. The real trick is learning to read the score sheet and remembering which keys are which notes. Becomes a game of hand-eye coordination after that." He methodically chews for a few seconds and swallows.
Urahara smiles politely. "I'm sure there's much more skill and practice involved than you're admitting to."
The lookalike shrugs, absently munching on his snack and not particularly interested in the conversation. An unsubtle hint he'd like to be left alone.
Unfortunately for him, Urahara doesn't plan on leaving until he manages to pry out answers.
The young man's exasperation is clear, despite the feigned politeness. “Why are you asking? You a talent scout looking to snag yourself a new client?”
Urahara blinks, taken aback by the answer. That's certainly a first. He offers a smile. "I suppose you could say I am, after a fashion."
This lookalike stares at him, dumbfounded. “Wait. For real? Gez, I was kidding. I assumed you were a creepy homeless bum plotting to hit me up for money." He draws his food closer protectively. "Or food.”
Urahara chokes back on a snort. That aligns more like his usual reactions. He plays up his offense for comedy's sake, hiding behind his unfurled fan. "Creepy and homeless? You wound me, young sir! How scandalous."
The lookalike's lips pull up into a hauntingly familiar slanted smirk. "Somehow I think you'll get over it. Now if you'd be so kind, would you leave me to my morning tea in peace?"
Common courtesy says yes, but Urahara has other plans. "Please allow me to properly introduce myself; my name is Urahara Kisuke. I own a humble candy store in the local districts."
The lookalike's eyebrows disappear into his beanie, but he's clearly displeased Urahara hasn't complied with his request. "So you're not a talent scout trying to bag your next star, you're a candy maker looking for a new taste-tester?"
Urahara waves the fan, "Oh, heavens no. I don't make it myself. That'd be excessive. I'm merely a purveyor of market and off-brand goods. Why would you think such a thing?"
"I don't know. Why else would you want to stalk to a random teenager after a public demo?"
"Stalking is a bit of an exaggeration, wouldn't you say?" Urahara suggests, ignoring the fact it really wasn't.
The lookalike's chin drops to his chest and he heaves a sigh, shaking his head. "I'm not getting out of this conversation any time soon, am I?"
The personality is almost identical too, Urahara muses wryly. "I think that's a rather dower way to regard our conversation."
The young man takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, a strange smile pulling at his lips. "Let this be a lesson; Me. Next time you're feeling nostalgic and see a piano, no touchie-touchie. Or you might wind up with more annoying hanger-ons."
Urahara allows a slight laugh, to break the tension. "We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Shall we start again?" He suggests.
The lookalike gives him a wry smile. "Mr Urahara, you're the one who came to me with a whole flurry of weird questions and requests. I'm just trying to enjoy a nice day."
Urahara slaps his fan shut and taps his palm with it. He nods and changes strategies, adopting the appropriate apologetic tone. "Yes, of course. It wasn't my intention to interrupt a pleasant outing. I realise that I got ahead of myself and wasn't particular tactful in my approach. Please forgive my lack of manners."
The disarming effect is immediate. The young man waving it away, abruptly wrongfooted himself.
"No, it's fine. I, uh... I'm sorry. I get a lot pushy old geezers crowding after me when I play in public like that. Developed a knee-jerk reaction to scare them off before they get stupid ideas, you know?" He tosses his thumb over his shoulder, shuddering at his next thought. "Especially in Tokyo's main drag. That place is rife with blood-sucking vultures. Learned the hard way never to indulge my musical whimsies there. Don't get me wrong, I deeply appreciate the interest - I'm damn flattered by it. And I understand the desire of wanting to make talent into a marketable skill, but I’m not the habit of into turning my hobbies into a profession."
"And why would that be?" Urahara asks, leaning forward slightly to appear interested.
This lookalike pulls a face, wincing. "Okay, you might laugh. Heck, maybe it's just a 'me' thing, but I find turning a part-time enjoyment into full-time obligation is a surefire way to kill your passion. Frankly I have zero appetite for that."
Urahara allows a private triumphant smile now the lookalike is more amenable to conversation. "Believe it or not, I understand that perfectly. I myself have had similar experiences. They say if you're truly passionate about your work, it doesn't feel like work. But there are always peaks and troughs, and no matter how exciting things are, tedium is inevitable."
"Exactly." The lookalike says brightly, positively gleeful someone understands. "It's all fun and games to play an instrument or cook and enjoy meal, but its a royal pain in the rump to handle the set-up or clean down afterwards."
Urahara hums in agreement. "Then I understand precisely what you mean. Though if I may say so, you seem quite new around here. As I have give you my name, might I ask you for yours?"
"Heh, turnabout's fair play and all." He fiddles with the last of his mochi. "My name is Takekawa Kaien. And you're right, I recently moved here from Nara prefecture."
The same given name? Suspicious. Incredibly suspicious. But Urahara allows none of it to show outwardly.
"Nara prefecture?" Urahara repeats appraisingly. "You're quite a long ways from home. Then in lieu of anyone else, perhaps you could make use of a local guide?"
This young Kaien barks out a laugh and levels an accusing finger at him. "Now that's a trap if I ever heard one."
Urahara merely chuckles. "So tell me, what brings you to Karakura?"