The Shinigami King grew tired of his play, so he asked an old soul to change it.
Otherwise known as what happens when an eccentric, morally questionable, teeny tiny overpowered old soul is gifted an Evil™ sword and thrown in a couple thousand years...
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1989
If I was an optimist who genuinely believed in the good of others I could have given Orihime's parents a second chance. It would be easy to force them into rehab and let them grow into better people in their current lives.
I was not an optimist anymore.
Instead, when Orihime turned three years old—her brother was eight—I confirmed the physical abuse had started up and then I—
Well.
Chop, chop went their heads.
Certainly not the nicest way of dealing with things, but I didn't care about them enough to do it the long way. I could rationalize and say it was for the best, but it really boiled down to apathy and laziness.
Ending lives didn't matter to me, especially since I knew to do so just caused them to pop back up later. Maybe they'd have better luck in the next life. Maybe not.
Did I care?
Nope.
With no other family to turn to, the siblings were about to go into foster care when I stepped in.
And here my long-term plan came into fruition on the physical realm. All those centuries of building up power and wealth made it a simple child's play to forge identification papers for me, along with paperwork naming me as their godmother and consequently taking both of them into my family.
And what a coincidence I happened to have built a house up right next door to where Ichigo would grow up with plenty of space for two children to happily grow up.
Isshin laughed his ass off when I introduced myself as his neighbor. "Does Tōshirō know you adopted human kiddos?"
"Nope."
"You gonna tell him?"
"He'll find out eventually," I dismissed.
He howled with laughter. "Okay, okay, what about Captain Aizen?"
"Meh."
"YOU'RE KILLING ME HAHAHAHAHA. I almost wish I hadn't defected JUST to see their faces. HAHAHAHAHAHA."
"You're too kind, Isshin."
(◕▾◕✿)
Sora was quiet.
A visit to a pediatrician confirmed the physical abuse, malnutrition, and hints of psychological damage.
The first step was setting up a nutrition plan to steadily put him back in a healthier shape. Once he had enough fat and muscle on his bones, getting him into sports—likely karate to encourage self-defense and help increase confidence—would be next.
During all of this, though, was therapy.
I knew well enough that I personally could act as his therapist, but it would be better for him to have more than one person to turn to. He needed another adult he could trust to talk about things he wouldn't want to talk to his guardian about, and vice versa.
