Answers and More Questions
Harry sat across from Urahara in the dimly lit shop, a cup of tea resting untouched in front of him. Ichigo leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the exchange silently.
Urahara took a slow sip of his tea before setting it down with a soft clink. His amused smile never faded. “So… you can see spirits, fight Hollows, and even perform Konso without a Zanpakutō. That’s quite the resume.”
Harry leaned forward slightly. “You seem like someone who knows a lot more than they let on. So tell me—what’s happening to me?”
Urahara chuckled. “Straight to the point. I like that.” He tilted his head. “First, let’s start with the basics. You’ve already seen a Hollow, but do you know why they exist?”
Harry thought back to what Ichigo had told him. “They’re corrupted souls, right?”
Urahara nodded. “Exactly. When a person dies, their soul should pass on to the afterlife—what we call the Soul Society. Shinigami, like Ichigo, help that process along. But when a soul lingers too long, burdened by regret or unfinished business, it starts to change. The chain on its chest corrodes, and once it fully disintegrates…” He made a small poof gesture. “They become a Hollow—twisted, hungry creatures that devour other souls.”
Harry frowned. “And what happens when they do pass on?”
Urahara smirked. “They become Pluses—normal spirits. When a Shinigami performs Konso, the soul is purified and sent to Soul Society, where it continues its existence.”
Harry thought back to what he had done in the park. “Except I did that without a sword.”
“Exactly,” Urahara said, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Which brings me to my next question: what are you?”
Harry tensed slightly. “What do you mean?”
Ichigo pushed off the wall, finally speaking. “He means normal humans don’t just do that, Potter. Even spiritually aware people can’t perform a Konso. It’s something only a Shinigami can do.”
Urahara hummed, tapping his fan against his chin. “But you’re not a Shinigami. Nor are you a Quincy—your abilities don’t match theirs.” His smile widened. “Which means you’re something else entirely.”
Harry exhaled through his nose. He had spent most of his life being labeled—The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The Master of Death. And now, in an entirely new world, he was still an anomaly.
But instead of feeling frustrated, he found himself… intrigued.
“So what does that mean?” Harry asked. “If I’m not a Shinigami or a Quincy, what am I?”
Urahara leaned forward, folding his hands together. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Harry met his gaze, unflinching. “Then let’s find the answer.”
For a long moment, Urahara simply studied him. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”