Bleach : Kurosaki Neighbor

Born an orphan, he never knew the warmth of a family. From as early as he could remember, he lived in an overcrowded orphanage where affection was scarce, and survival always came before kindness. He quickly learned that the only person he could rely on was himself. While other children sought comfort in friendships, he remained distant, never allowing himself to grow attached.

Despite his cold and detached nature, he was incredibly sharp when it came to physical and practical skills. Though only average in academics, he excelled in anything that required discipline, instinct, and hands-on mastery. Martial arts, cooking, craftsmanship, music—he pursued them all with relentless dedication. Not because he had ambitions or dreams, but simply because he could. His natural talents made him an all-rounder, capable of adapting to any situation with ease.

Though he had the strength to dominate, he had no desire for power. He never sought fights unless absolutely necessary, always prioritizing efficiency over pride. If conflict arose, his first instinct was to resolve it peacefully—negotiating, de-escalating, or simply walking away. But when peace was not an option, when his hand was forced, he fought without hesitation or wasted effort.

He never fought to prove himself—only to protect himself. And if eliminating a threat before it could escalate was the only solution, so be it.

As he grew older, he found solace in the simplicity of cooking. Unlike combat, where every move had to be precise and ruthless, cooking allowed him to work at his own pace. It required skill, but there was no pressure to be the strongest—just the quiet satisfaction of creating something with his own hands. Eventually, he opened a small restaurant. Not large, not famous, just enough to sustain himself. He worked alone, serving the customers who came and went—not for profit, not for ambition, but because he genuinely enjoyed it.

Despite never forming deep relationships, he was not truly alone. There were a few who had managed to weave themselves into his life in small but meaningful ways. An old sparring partner, long retired but still dropping by to share a drink. A regular customer who always ordered the same dish and lingered just long enough to chat. A street musician who played near his shop, sometimes joining him inside to exchange melodies in companionable silence. None of them demanded anything from him, and in return, he never pushed them away.

He did not seek companionship, yet it found him in the simplest of ways.

And while he spent much of his time alone, there were moments when he let himself enjoy the presence of others. On rare occasions, after closing his shop or finishing training, he would join his small circle for casual gaming sessions. No grand tournaments or competitive rankings—just old consoles, simple co-op games, and friendly rivalry.

He was good at gaming—quick reflexes, sharp instincts—but he wasn't the best. Sometimes he lost, and though he would get a little frustrated, he never let it get to him. Instead, he'd sigh, shake his head, and with a smirk, congratulate the winner. He knew his limits. He was talented, but he wasn't the best at everything. And he was fine with that.

Despite this, he remained content living life at his own pace, improving himself for the sake of it, not because he was searching for something more. He found comfort in routine, in perfecting his craft, in simply existing on his own terms. Music, in particular, was his refuge. Whether listening, playing, or simply letting it play in the background as he gamed or worked, it brought him a rare sense of calm—one of the few things that truly made him feel at peace.

Over the years, he accumulated vast knowledge in physical and survival-based skills, honing himself to near perfection. He became the strongest in his world, though it had never been his goal. Titles, recognition, ambition—none of it mattered. He did what he did simply because he could. And he was happy with that.

He lived. And lived. And lived.

Until, one day, his body could no longer keep up.

Lying on his deathbed, he felt no fear, no regret—only quiet acceptance. He had lived a long life, and now it was over. No sadness, no longing for more. Just the inevitable end.

At his bedside sat those few who had remained in his life—his old sparring partner, now a frail man; the loyal customer who had long since become a friend; the musician, strumming a quiet melody, playing him out of the world as gently as he had lived in it.

His hands, once so steady, trembled slightly as he reached for the game controller resting beside him—a relic from past gaming nights spent in laughter and quiet companionship. A small, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips.

"I have done enough. I am happy with what I achieved. Even if there is a next life… I will still act like this."

And then… nothing.

...

And then… he woke up.

No grand revelation. No divine messenger. No mysterious voice explaining his fate.

Just the distant warmth of a soft embrace, the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat, and the gentle murmur of voices filled with love and care.

For the first time in both his lives, he felt it—genuine warmth, the love of parents.

He had been reincarnated.

Into a world he did not yet recognize. Into a life he had never asked for.