Bleach

In the twilight between the World of the Living and the Soul Society, a gentle breeze stirred the sakura trees lining the Seireitei’s quiet paths. Ichigo leaned against a wooden post, a rare smile tugging at his lips as Rukia sketched something quietly beside him—probably another ridiculous rabbit doodle. The weight of battles past lingered in the silence, but for a moment, everything was still, wrapped in a kind of peace that only comes after storms. Even a Substitute Soul Reaper needs a break, sometimes.