The Soul Who Always Had Nightmares

Once again, he was about to be eaten.

Dōsan Hanyū opened his eyes, a trace of nonchalance mingling with the resignation in his gaze.

This was a magnificent palace, packed with aristocrats from high society.

There were kings, nobles, generals, and ministers from great Eastern nations, as well as nobles and princesses from Western countries.

They exchanged no unnecessary glances or gestures, like stiff puppets on strings, dancing cheek to cheek or exchanging drinks.

But the moment Dōsan opened his eyes, every guest's eyeballs turned, round as glass marbles, until the whites faced forward.

Every "gaze" in the palace converged on him.

More and more people crowded into the palace like ghostly shadows, gradually filling it. Each of them now held a knife and fork or a bowl and chopsticks.

Their utensils occasionally knocked together with a faint metallic clink.

The crowd began pressing toward Dōsan, and a rich aroma reached his nose.

Dinner was served.

Dōsan lifted his head, only to see that he was lying flat on the dining table, his entire body dissected and giving off a tempting aroma from the inside out.

The smell of meat was so intoxicating that even Dōsan couldn't resist digging into a bowl.

Dōsan tried to move, but his hands felt bound by invisible ropes.

The diners drooled, their eyes full of all kinds of desire, as they pinned Dōsan beneath them.

"You've got to be kidding me. Again?"

Dōsan grumbled speechlessly. This was worse than last night: at least that dream had an extra Soul Reaper, an incredibly cocky Soul Reaper.

Outside the dream, an imperceptible gray mist seeped from Dōsan's prone body and spread outward in waves. The expressions of his roommates resting nearby grew more and more distorted.

Inside the dream, gray mist likewise spread from Dōsan in ripples.

When the mist touched the diners, they offered no resistance. From skin to bone, they crumbled unhindered into ash. Then the entire palace began to collapse, and the world turned upside down with it.

"Hm?"

Dōsan gave a quiet grunt and calmly opened his eyes.

It had all been a dream.

Dōsan turned to look at his roommates. Some had their brows tightly furrowed, while others were twitching slightly.

As Dōsan woke, they too opened their eyes, terror in their gazes.

"Whew, good thing I woke up early, or I'd have been eaten again." A bare-chested man rubbed his bald head, still shaken.

A stubbled man beside him had just woken up, drool hanging from the corner of his mouth and his eyes vacant. "I dreamed I was in a world of endless white. I ran and ran, but I just couldn't wake up."

"Speaking of which, why did you run? Wouldn't it have been better to just sleep in the dream?"

"Dōsan, what kind of dream did you have?" someone asked Dōsan, who was beside him.

"Me?" Dōsan Hanyū masked his slight embarrassment with a smile. "The same as usual. I was tied to a dining table and eaten."

The break room gradually grew noisy. The men's competitive instincts kicked in, and the topic slowly shifted from nightmares to whose dream was scarier.

Dōsan didn't join the inexplicable conversation. Instead, he stood by the window and gazed into the distance.

This was Junrinan, West Rukongai's first district in Soul Society, the wealthiest and safest district in Rukongai.

But for wandering souls from the outer districts like them, the price of gaining a foothold here was working at least fifteen hours a day.

They got an hour's break at noon, but not because the owner was kind.

They started work at five in the morning and rested at eleven at night. Without taking turns to rest at noon, these ordinary souls simply couldn't hold out.

Still, all the hardship was worth it.

Dōsan only had to endure another month of hard work, and under their previous agreement, he could obtain a residence permit for Junrinan.

Then he could change jobs or ask for wages. After working hard for a few more years, he could have a thatched house of his own in Junrinan and become a legal resident of Rukongai's first district.

Recently, though, these midday naps had become torture. No, all sleep had become an ordeal.

Whenever this group of cheap laborers fell asleep, they would have nightmares, invariably the kind that left them miserable and frayed their nerves.

Did wandering souls have nightmares too?

He didn't know.

And among this group of unlucky souls,

Dōsan Hanyū himself was the odd one out.

Dōsan gazed pensively into the distance.

In fact, barring any surprises, he might have been the one who started it all.

At first, he hadn't noticed anything, but as time went on, Dōsan realized something was wrong.

Whenever Dōsan fell asleep, any sleeping roommates nearby would become trapped in a cycle of terrifying nightmares, nightmares that drew on each person's deepest fears.

Dōsan was always the first to wake up.

And if he became lost in a nightmare, the people around him would also become trapped in a cycle of nightmares, able only to wait for someone else to wake them.

Had I picked up something unclean?

He shook his head and stopped himself from dwelling on it.

Dōsan stood before the back window, looking at the scenery outside.

From this angle, he could see a deserted residential area in the distance.

Supposedly, when outsiders approached that area, a barrier would activate and raise walls.

Within that mysterious barrier lived the rulers of this land of the dead. They were called Soul Reapers, and they possessed the greatest military might, authority, and wealth in this land of the dead.

Dōsan shook his head and gave a self-deprecating smile.

Those things were too far removed from him. Why dwell on them?

For now, he should deal with the residence permit first. His own view lay in the distant future, not the present.

Turning around, Dōsan looked at his roommates again. They were red-faced from arguing, but still shaken by their dreams.

He didn't want to trouble anyone.

But he was sorry—he needed this job, very, very badly.

"Dōsan Hanyū, it's your turn to get back to work!"

"Yes!"

Dōsan rolled up his sleeves. The work was hard, and even during their noon break, they generally didn't have the energy to take off their aprons.

"Dōsan Hanyū, go mop the floor."

"Dōsan, food for table five."

"Dōsan Hanyū, it's time for the next step with the sake jars."

Dōsan had a specialty green plum wine and was the izakaya's brewer, but it didn't matter. He received no wages.

For the residence permit, he needed to, and was willing to, put in more unpaid labor.

The work was hard.

But in this world full of hunger and death, simply staying alive took everything one had.

In broad daylight, a group of Soul Reapers dressed in black shihakushō had erected a barrier on the roof across from the izakaya and were openly scrutinizing the establishment before them.

"Dōsan Hanyū was born in South Rukongai's forty-ninth district and later settled in West Rukongai's eleventh district. Three months ago, he came to Zuirinan and became the brewer at Kobayashi Izakaya, thereby obtaining permission to stay in Zuirinan."

"Last night, on East First Street in Zuirinan, one hundred and twenty-three wandering souls fell into terrifying dreams. At the same time, an extremely bizarre spiritual pressure appeared here."

"An investigation by the Twelfth Division confirmed Dōsan Hanyū as the source of the anomaly."

"We are currently assessing the reason for the appearance of the bizarre spiritual pressure."

Rangiku Matsumoto, acting lieutenant of the Tenth Division, had orange hair hanging around her face and cheeks flushed from a hangover. Nine members of the Twelfth Division stood beside her.

Rangiku had spent one day on a field assignment hunting Hollows, then insisted on staying out to slack off for two more. She hadn't expected to run into something this interesting that night.

Rangiku's eyes were hazy with drink, and her breath carried the faint sweetness of plums. A soft, drunken hiccup sent her chest heaving like surging waves.

While Dōsan was asleep, Rangiku had sensed a faint fluctuation in spiritual pressure. But could spiritual pressure alone cause such a large-scale anomaly?

She had never heard of such a thing.

"Does that mad scientist need to use such an old-fashioned observation method too?"

Mayuri Kurotsuchi had become captain of the Twelfth Division less than ten years ago. He was extremely perverse in his conduct, and some of his evil experiments had already provoked the anger of many people in the Seireitei.

The man in the white coat glanced at Rangiku. "When the incident occurred last night, Fifth Seat Tachikawa attempted a mental intervention."

Tachikawa Magaki of the Twelfth Division wielded a Kidō-type Zanpakuto called Quiet Judgment and was the Gotei 13's chief interrogator.

But mentally—

Using such a vicious method against a child? Mayuri's reputation really was well earned.

"And then?" Rangiku's attitude changed abruptly, like a cat's. She abandoned her irreverent manner and looked serious.

The white-coated squad member's eyes bulged slightly, and his voice trembled. "Fifth Seat has now been taken to the Fourth Division hospital. Something seems to be wrong with her mind, and she remains unconscious."

An untrained kid had left a Seated Officer of the Thirteenth Division unconscious?

What a joke.

Seemingly afraid that Rangiku would look down on the Twelfth Division, the man in the white coat held back his displeasure and insisted on adding an explanation for this outsider, excitement showing in his eyes. "There's no record of anything like this in Soul Society's history. He's an extraordinarily valuable test subject!"