Bleach: Starting as a Vasto Lorde

Chapter 1: Hey you!

A dark basement filled with a suffocating stench and less than a healthy percentage of oxygen content — it was the type of shady place every parent warned their children about. A place you should never visit after dark.

Unfortunately, Kazuya found himself in this devious place, sitting on a rusty steel chair, hands cuffed behind him.

A blonde man in a shiny suit sneered down at him and raised a revolver in his hand. The cold barrel touched his forehead. A wave of chill passed over him as a droplet of sweat dripped down his cheeks, falling onto his messy white shirt.

“Kazuya, blame your hardass grandfather for prioritizing his job over your life,” the yakuza-like man said, his tone colder than Kazuya’s terror but his eyes carried a faint look of pity. “The sin for your death will be on his soul.”

He shifted the blame of murdering an innocent soul on someone else.

Instead of crying or begging for mercy, Kazuya simply sighed. Almost half a day has passed since they brought him here, yet nobody came to his rescue. Giants danced in his stomach, requesting food maniacally.

He wasn’t going to cry and avert his eyes from reality — this was the end. There was no use pretending otherwise.

He was fortunate to survive a similar crisis two times. First time with a broken right arm and second time with a bullet hole in his left thigh. He almost lost his little brother because of a misfire between the Yakuza and the police! Both times, the police arrived to negotiate in less than an hour. This time the stakes were too high.

Between a university freeloader and a group of EX-Class terrorists, a hero of justice like his grandfather would choose the latter.

“Fucking Gramps,” Kazuya cursed under his breath. “Kill me, man. He’ll hunt you down sooner or later.”

His grandfather had spoiled him rotten ever since his parents died. The old man gave him a private chef for his daily meals, a maid for his daily needs, a seat in a prestigious school, and most importantly, a home to live in.

He was extremely grateful but also resentful.

Love was irrational, hatred even more.

His life became a terrible joke because of his grandfather’s job. He wanted to leave the city, even the fucking country. But his only relative became emotional and possessive, refusing to let Kazuya step out of his ‘protection.’

He merely wanted to live without constant aggression. Unfortunately, he won’t get that peace in this life.

The terrorist looked shaken at the mention of Kazuya’s grandfather. “No, he doesn’t care about you. Any last words before we put you out of misery?”

“Last words, huh?”

Kazuya smiled at the men standing behind the blondie. The chances of making it out alive were almost non-existent… But he wanted to punch this asshole so badly. If he couldn’t live, then his “enemies” shouldn’t either. That’s how he saw things.

“No… then—”

“I have a few.” Kazuya cut off the blonde man with a friendly smile. “Leave a letter for Gramps in my stead. Ask him to transfer all my inheritance to my friend Ryosuke.”

Ryosuke usually declined Kazuya’s attempt to help him. Could Ryosuke refuse the last wish of a dead friend? Definitely not. With some money, Ryosuke could be free from his part-time jobs and live a decent life.

“...”

“And finish the Akame Ga Kill manga for me. I haven’t read the last few chapters. I heard they were kinda mediocre compared to the rest of the series… I still wanna finish it.”

They kidnapped him near the climax of that heart-wrenching manga.

What a tragic timing!

The hooligan with a revolver was dumbstruck. Kazuya wasn’t lying, though. He really wanted to finish that story and wallow in the following hollowness for a day or two.

“Oh wait. Send a letter to Yumi-sensei as well. Tell her I loved her to death. If she needs money, she can slap my grandfather.”

Yumi was closest to him after his grandfather and his stupid friend. After a year of corrupting—pursuing his hot teacher, she agreed to date him. He would no longer get to enjoy late private lectures.

His life wasn’t that bad, per se. His teacher-cum-girlfriend balanced his daily life with a super possessive, justice-hungry grandfather.

“One more thing… Fuck you and your comrades for kidnapping me now. Couldn’t you have planned three more months? My grandfather might’ve died in an elaborate scheme—I mean accident. You dickheads would’ve assassinated that stupid president. Jesus christ, you all are impatient like fucking kindergarteners.”

He took a deep breath after his outburst. It felt like a stone was lifted off of his chest.

‘Ah, there is no better stress relief than yelling.’

Kazuya’s words struck some nerves in his kidnapper as his handsome face turned crimson. “You little cunt…”

Terrorist-san pressed the barrel deeper into his forehead. Staring down at his death certainly gave him some regret.

His only trouble with death was — does the afterlife exist? If not, where will he go after death? Will he simply stop existing?

As he fell into a loop of thoughts, the blonde man squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

A red sheen filled his vision. A searing pain exploded in his head, making him cry out in agony. His eyes fluttered closed, and his head slumped, the burning sensation gradually waning.

Silence fell in the aftermath of his death.

…

…

…

‘Hold on… why can I think?’

His consciousness was intact after the gunshot. Did his brain survive the bullet from that range? Unlikely, considering the pitch black surrounding him. He was hovering in nowhere, devoid of every sensation, not even the pain inflicted by the bullet.

Something was wrong — he could feel it in his bones.

An oh-so-familiar floating window emerged in the sea of darkness.

‘Character? Is this system?’

That shitty reincarnation trope of empowering a protagonist to the divine levels for no reason. He wasn’t fond of systems, as they forced unreasonable tasks on their host. Let’s not forget the fact that most systems were part of some end-level boss’s scheme, or given by some alternate version of the main characters.

Amidst his confusion, the sensation of his body returned. He felt lurching up and down, the exaggerated motion of a horse’s gait all too familiar. He had been riding horses since he was a child, but hadn't straddled one since he graduated from high school.

As he blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, he saw a panorama of jagged peaks, craggy summits, and snow-covered ridgelines. The stars were absent in the ink-black sky, only a half moon fighting a losing battle against the darkness.

‘Was the moon always this close?’

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

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