Ichigo Kurosaki is probably the only person, other than Rukia, who's not excited about the new transfer student. Even Uryu seems interested, though Ichigo's not sure why the hell he gives a damn. Then she comes into his Japanese class, covered in di...
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—Tora—
I stood outside of the door to the Japanese classroom, staring at nothing in particular.
"I sense something," Shika said, his baby voice coming out in a squeak as he appeared on my shoulder.
I tensed. The last time he said that, we were nearly thrown into the river. "Is it one of those masked things?" I asked, looking at him. What had that man called them? Hollows?
He ruffled his orange fur—a no.
"Something else?"
He nodded.
I bit my lip, eyes hardening as I tried to think. "Is it like that robed guy?"
He nodded again. "A lot of them," he confirmed. "But something's...off about this force," he explained. "Like its...subdued or something."
I studied the door, trying to will some sort of answer out of it. "Maybe you should hide."
"Huh?" He looked at me, tilting his puff-ball body to the side.
"In case they're not friendly," I clarified.
He whimpered, unhappy with leaving me alone when I didn't know anything.
I sighed. "I'm sorry, Shika, but it's for the best. What if one of them can see you?"
"I get it," he said reluctantly.
I smiled, trying to reassure him. "Just meet me at the gates, okay?"
"Fine," he answered. Before I could say anything else, he twisted into himself, disappearing with a pop.
Just in time, too, because the teacher said, "You can come in now, Ito."
Taking a deep breath, I slid open the door, trying to keep my face neutral.
Except that was hard this time because as soon as the door cracked open, it felt like a bulldozer had rammed into me, threatening to smash me against the floor. My knees buckled, and I almost collapsed, but the murmurs of students brought me out of it. Instead, I looked at the ground, using my bangs to cover the fact my eyes were closed, and focused on breathing deeply, willing whatever force around me to go away. After a few seconds, it subsided enough for me to look up without cringing.
No one seemed to have noticed anything. The only thing off was a few dumbfounded faces, but that could just as easily be caused by the dirt stains all over me.
I sighed quietly, barely keep myself from shaking my head.
In my scuffle with the shinigamis this morning, I was thrown into a construction zone, getting mud all over me. It was only thanks to Shika that I got most of it out of my hair—though it had tangled it up so much, my hair was practically defying gravity—but there was no way I could get it out of my clothes, not without a washing machine and some serious stain remover. I had thought about going home and changing before I came to school, but I had already been running late before the shinigami had attacked, let alone after the fight was finally over.
