The Observer on the Rooftop

Night fell, and stars dotted the sky.

Though it was late, the work at an izakaya had only just begun.

Heaven had given Dōsan a way to make a living. Though he was poor and his clothes were covered in patches, he had delicate features, fair skin, black hair and black eyes. His hair was tied in a wolf-tail braid, and most eye-catching of all was his pair of white eyebrows.

Besides working as a brewer, Dōsan Hanyū had also been assigned to serve customers.

And for the sake of a residence permit, he was willing to take on extra work.

But when there was so much work to do, mistakes were inevitable. Under such intense working conditions, serving customers out front was far more likely to lead to mistakes than working in the kitchen.

"How many times have I told you not to walk so fast? You spilled the customer's sake! Do you still want that residence permit or not?" The manager pointed at Dōsan Hanyū and scolded him.

Dōsan tried to wipe the soiled floor with a rag, holding back his anger as he repeated to himself, Residence permit, residence permit.

Just that morning, the manager had also scolded him for being a little slow serving the food.

"It's all right, manager." The customer had short brown hair and wore square-framed glasses. His eyes and the corners of his mouth held a gentle smile, and his voice was so calm that it put people at ease without their realizing it.

Except Dōsan.

In a world this terrible, Dōsan could sense a disregard for life in a man who could always wear a smile.

"If there's a next time, don't bother coming back!" The manager narrowed his eyes and scolded Dōsan. Of course, it wasn't because of this minor incident.

Junrinan's residence permits were issued by nobles, and every one of them could sell for at least three thousand rings.

How could he possibly give one away to a poor out-of-towner working for him?

According to their agreement, tomorrow was the day he was supposed to give this country bumpkin a residence permit.

Determined to find the tiniest fault, the manager kept pointing at Dōsan and haranguing him.

"Boss, one serving of rock-sugar lemon watermelon!" A languid, somewhat indifferent voice came from outside.

"Get a move on and take care of it." The boss glared at Dōsan, who had his head lowered, and cursed him for being thoughtless.

Dōsan went to the kitchen and wrapped the watermelon that had already been plated in oil paper.

Rock-sugar lemon watermelon was one of the Kobayashi Izakaya's specialties. The watermelon was cut into fist-sized chunks and coated in a special sugar glaze, making it a favorite among children.

There were four pieces in a serving. Dōsan came to the shop entrance, where a little white-haired boy was waiting.

"Tōshirō, it's you!" Dōsan smiled and handed him the little paper package, unable to resist reaching out and ruffling his white hair.

Perhaps because they had similarly white eyebrows, Dōsan had grown close to this little tsundere, cold on the outside but warm on the inside, not long after coming here to work.

"Don't touch my head, baka Dōsan." Tōshirō shook Dōsan's hand off and gave him a light kick. Then he wrapped a piece of watermelon in paper and handed it to him. "One each for me, Grandma, and bed-wetting Momo. There's nobody to eat the last one, so you can have it."

"Hey, what's with that look? It's just the leftover one, baka Dōsan."

It wasn't until around midnight, when they noticed Dōsan was finally about to leave the izakaya, that the Shinigami's weary spirits lifted a little.

"The target is in position. Execute Plan B and lure him into the experiment circle," the man in the white coat quietly ordered his companions.

"He's finally off work," one of the squad members muttered. Despite possessing such power, Dōsan did work every day that would bore him to death just watching for a single day.

"Shut up, don't give us away. Lure him in according to the plan!"

Rangiku Matsumoto had spent half the day sitting here with this bunch of overtime dogs. Honestly, it was pretty boring.

But slacking off was fun!

Rangiku had brought a little sake flask and lain here for a whole day. She had even found time to finish writing her report on the violation of her "delayed return."

"What's Plan B?"

These research types really were strange.

But as the aura below gradually changed, Rangiku's golden eyes suddenly narrowed, and her expression grew hesitant, then surprised.

It was a Hollow's aura.

Weren't these Twelfth Division guys being a little too bold?

Rangiku, who had just gotten drunk again, lost some of the flush in her cheeks, and a strange light flickered in her golden eyes.

The current captain of the Twelfth Division, Mayuri Kurotsuchi, had held the position for less than ten years.

But this captain who had emerged from the Maggot's Nest had already shown plenty of madness.

To make up for the fighting strength lost when Kisuke Urahara and the others defected decades ago, the Central 46 Chambers had backed Mayuri in conducting a considerable number of utterly inhumane scientific experiments. These included the Modified Soul army experiment, which had recently drawn the most criticism from the Thirteenth Division.

But even though Rangiku had already set the bar for Mayuri's scruples very low, she had never imagined he would willingly consort with Hollows.

Rangiku was like a curious cat. In the faint moonlight, her beautiful orange hair made her eyes appear golden. She blinked and quietly waited to see how things would unfold.

Though its aura suggested it was only some insignificant little Hollow, Rangiku still cautiously rested her hand on her sword.

After finishing work in the middle of the night, Dōsan spent another hour cleaning the izakaya as usual before setting off down the path back to the dormitory.

He had been in this world of the dead for more than ten years, he supposed. But unlike other departed souls, his memories of his previous life were extremely hazy.

He only remembered that he had lived in a place full of high-rises, and that Dōsan Hanyū had loved manga in his previous life.

He couldn't remember the rest clearly, but he still had a faint impression of a manga called "Bleach"—only a few names.

Ichigo Kuroki, Rukia Kuchiki, and...

His memories were too hazy; he only remembered those names.

Perhaps this was nothing more than a strange dream.

"It shouldn't be many more days. Once I get a Junrinan residence permit, I'll work at an izakaya that pays well and save up enough for a little thatched hut."

That was life for an ordinary soul.

If he went back too early, his roommates would have nightmares because of him, which was also why he worked extra hours.

He could at least let everyone get some rest.

Dōsan felt his way along the familiar street, and before he knew it, the thin sole of his straw sandal seemed to step on something.

There wasn't much trash in the land of departed souls.

Dōsan looked down and saw a round disc smaller than the palm of his hand.

In a flash, Dōsan's eyes seemed to shine gold. He snatched the disc into his palm at lightning speed, then looked left and right like a thief.

This was the only currency in Soul Society.

An ordinary soul needed only three rings a day to get by.

Though Dōsan did everything he could to save money, he had a huge appetite. He had finally made it to Junrinan, where he could eat and drink his fill, but his current job didn't pay wages.

Like a cat that had caught the scent of fish, Dōsan Hanyū could see nothing but the yellow gleam.

"There's another one over there!"

The image of the gold coin was reflected in Dōsan's pupils. At a speed that astonished even the Shinigami, he stuffed the other ring into his robes.

"There's another one ahead." Dōsan Hanyū looked into the distance. There was one every few steps.

Like a little hamster gathering nuts, Dōsan Hanyū picked them up all along the path, collecting more than a dozen rings.

Dōsan looked up again. There was actually a small pile of money farther ahead—dozens of rings, even without looking closely.

Dōsan thrust out his sleeve and frantically wiped the drool from the corners of his mouth. His foot slowly rose, but then he dashed off in the opposite direction.

And they thought this childish scam would fool me.

"Pfft... hahaha! This is your Plan B? Salami tactics? Then what's Plan A?" Rangiku laughed until tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, one hand clutching her stomach while the other frantically slapped the white-coated man's shoulder.

The tension on the man's face suddenly gave way to bewilderment.

A regular squad member in a Shinigami uniform beside him timidly twisted the knife. "10th Seat, could you reimburse me later for the two thousand rings I lost?"

"Shut up! And do you take me for a blind man? There were barely a dozen rings!"

The man in the white coat barked at him, a vicious light flashing in his sinister eyes. "Force experiment subject number 153 to descend and stop Dōsan Hanyū!"

The squad members beside him began chanting together.

And Dōsan Hanyū, under their watchful eyes, also sensed an unusual disturbance in the space around him.

Dōsan turned his head and reached out to feel the ripples around him. Immediately afterward, a loathsome aura welled up in his heart.

"This doesn't seem good!" Dōsan Hanyū's eyelids twitched.