In the room, Ichigo Kurosaki looked at Lin Xuan with anticipation. "So how are you going to make me as strong as you?"
Lin Xuan shook his head. "First of all, becoming as strong as me is impossible. You've got talent—but I'm not a target you can chase."
Ichigo bristled internally but didn't interrupt.
"If you want to defeat Hollows, you need to become a Shinigami first," Lin Xuan continued.
Ichigo asked quickly, "I can become a Shinigami?"
Lin Xuan had already explained Shinigami to him earlier, so he knew they existed.
Then Lin Xuan suddenly beckoned him over.
Ichigo approached, puzzled—and the moment he got close, a palm shot toward his forehead.
Ichigo's face changed. He tried to dodge, but it was too late.
Thud!
Lin Xuan flicked Ichigo's forehead with a finger. Ichigo flew backward and slammed into the wall.
"What the hell—were you trying to kill me?" Ichigo roared.
Lin Xuan smiled and pointed at him. "You're a Shinigami now."
Ichigo froze—then saw his own body lying on the floor.
He looked down at himself. He was wearing black robes, gripping a sword nearly as tall as he was.
"What... what's going on?" Ichigo was completely lost.
Lin Xuan watched him, impressed inwardly.
Descendant of a Shinigami and a Quincy—no wonder his aptitude was this strong.
When Lin Xuan tried injecting spiritual power into Ichigo's body, a powerful suction pulled it in.
But Lin Xuan had absorbed plenty of reishi in the Soul Society. His spiritual power far exceeded Rukia Kuchiki's.
In the end, what Ichigo absorbed was barely a fraction of what Lin Xuan had stored.
Lin Xuan had chosen Ichigo largely because of that talent.
If his intervention changed Ichigo's fate completely—condemning him to an ordinary life forever—that would be a waste.
Better to recruit this future powerhouse into the guild and put him to use.
Ichigo's power awakened inside him. A burst of reiatsu erupted from his body.
Ichigo felt the strength flowing through him. "So this is what being a Shinigami feels like? This power is mine now."
He turned to Lin Xuan with a grin and shouted, "Take this!"
Brandishing his Zanpakutō, he charged at Lin Xuan.
Ichigo didn't mean to kill him—he'd always found Lin Xuan insufferably smug. Now with power of his own, he was drunk on a mysterious confidence and figured he could teach Lin Xuan a lesson.
Thud!
He barely got close before he flew back even faster—out the window and onto the street below, sprawled like a dead dog.
"Who is this guy? He's clearly a Shinigami too—why don't I know anything about him?" Isshin Kurosaki watched from the shadows, face full of shock.
If not for Ichigo's reiatsu erupting, he wouldn't have noticed anything wrong at all.
That shocked him even more—he hadn't detected Lin Xuan's presence before that moment.
Then Lin Xuan on the second floor turned and looked directly at him with a smile.
Isshin's face changed. He quickly ducked back inside.
The next day.
Ichigo, in his shihakushō, dragged Zangetsu back to his room, exhausted.
He'd been fighting all night. Under Lin Xuan's guidance, he was gradually getting a handle on his power.
For some reason, several Hollows had appeared in one night.
Lin Xuan didn't intervene this time—he let Ichigo handle them as live combat practice.
So Ichigo fought Hollow after Hollow without rest, only killing the last one shortly before dawn.
Back in his room, seeing the man sleeping comfortably in his bed, a vein pulsed at Ichigo's temple.
He was starting to regret this. He felt like he'd been played.
He'd spent the entire night fighting while this guy slept in his room.
Ichigo returned to his body, about to rest—
Then a shout from downstairs: "Ichigo, time for school!"
A figure came flying through the window, lunging at him.
Thud!
Ichigo, already in a foul mood, kicked out—and sent Isshin Kurosaki flying back out of the room.
Isshin's angry curses rose from below. "You little brat—trying to kill your old man?"
"You old geezer—if you'd actually died, that'd be one less headache every day!" Ichigo snapped back.
Ichigo glanced at the bed—but Lin Xuan was already gone.
Isshin charged back upstairs. Father and son were soon wrestling again—their special way of communicating.
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T/N:
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