Kon (Bleach)

Kon wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do.

The day had started like any other; wake up, get ready for another day of sleeping at school – he was smarter than Ichigo, anyway – and keeping himself busy somehow. It was a standard routine that the mod soul had gotten used to over the years. Ever since being found by Ichigo, back when the teen had first awakened his Shinigami powers, Kon had lived a reasonably nice life. Better than being a pebble inside a box, that is.

Their arrangement was simple. Kon would take over Ichigo’s body from time to time, if necessary. For example, when Ichigo was **** to leave his physical body, so that he could fight Hollows. By simply ingesting Kon’s actual form, the teenager’s soul would be expelled; ready for battle. Meanwhile, it was Kon’s task to head to safety and pretend to be Ichigo.

This also counted for times when his ‘owner’ had to visit the Soul Society. Sometimes for long periods of time. Whenever such an occasion popped up, Kon would take over until Ichigo returned.

And to be honest, he didn’t actually dislike that. It was nice to have a body made of flesh and blood, rather than cotton and fillings. Kon was proud of his lion plushie body. Sure, it was a second-hand product as opposed to something fresh from the store. And it lacked proper thumbs. And he was defenseless against everyone, including pets that would chew on him as if he was some kind of toy. And more than not he was mistreated–

Wait. What was he trying to say again?

That he was content with his body – right. That being said, however, possessing a human body was useful in its own right. He got to experience all the benefits that came with it.

Simple stuff like drinking, eating and pooping. Seriously, those traits were a lot more precious once you were stuck as a semi-lifeless doll. The plushie lion lacked a stomach, or tastebuds for that matter. Kon had long realized that he should savor every second he could spend within Ichigo’s body – as weird as that sounded.

The mod soul sighed happily, putting an empty glass on Ichigo’s desk. “Ah. That hit the spot. Ichigo can complain all he wants about my diet; I’m not surrendering my soda. That’s the price for having me run around as his double.”

So here he was; an artificial being using the body of a substitute Shinigami. It was a Friday afternoon, and the sun shone brightly outside. Classes were finished for the day. He’d gotten a glimpse of a girl’s panties, and he’d witnessed Orihime’s amazing bust. The latter always made his day. Sweet Orihime’s breasts were the stuff of legends; large, full, and always straining against her clothes. Kon had only gotten home about half an hour ago, but he was already relaxing to the fullest extent of his ability. His collar was loose, showing off some of his toned chest as the AC cooled the bedroom down to a more reasonable temperature.

Kon was pretending to be Ichigo since two days ago, when the sole Kurosaki son had left for the Soul Society. More training, apparently. Several captains had offered to personally teach Ichigo a bunch of stuff, and naturally the young man had agreed. There was still so much he didn’t understand or know about being a Shinigami. The Winter War was officially over, and Aizen and almost all of the Espada were defeated, but that didn’t mean there would be everlasting peace.

He snorted. As if that would ever happen; if not because of the Hollows always entering the human world, then because of the Soul Society screwing up in one way or another. Those guys had idiots for leaders. Always making dumb decisions, causing disasters that would bit them in the ass sooner or later. The Bounts; the Zanpakutou Rebellion; the Mod Soul Uprising. The list went on and on. Kon remembered how he and his fellow mod souls, whose only crime had been to exist, were once disposed of. Those days remained the darkest and most awful of his life up to this date.

Anyway, with Ichigo out there getting his ass kicked by Kenpachi – and Byakuya as well, most likely – it was up to Kon to hold the front. Sadly, that also meant Rukia wasn’t here. A damn shame. Even if she wasn’t as curvy as most of Shinigami friends, Kon knew for a fact that Rukia was beautiful. And she had one amazing ass! Anyway, he did a good enough job at fooling the Kurosaki family. All he had to do was brood and mope around from to time, or stay cooped up in his room.

Ichigo was not a very social guy.

And he got along pretty well with the girls, too. Yuzu and Karin were good sisters. While Yuzu had dressed him up like some kind of princess attending a tea party more times than he would like, Kon would often help her out with the chores. And he’d help Karin study for school. But both girls were gone, though. Isshin and his daughters were on vacation, and wouldn’t be back home for at least another week and a half.

Which meant he had the whole house to himself for the foreseeable future. Awesome!

Yet what was supposed to be a carefree weekend, filled with relaxation and watching an unhealthy amount of porn, was immediately interrupted. Kon tapped his chin with his index finger, as he once more inspected the package that had been delivered to the Kurosaki household in the afternoon. The weird part was that someone had put it inside the house, which meant the person must have had a key or something. He doubted someone would break into the house just to deliver a mysterious package.

It was addressed to Ichigo in particular, meaning neither his father nor his sisters were in on this. Kon carefully looked over the shipping information. Or rather, the lack of said details. The package was a small container. Couldn’t be any bigger than a lunchbox. In other words, a mystery package with no clear sender. That was suspicious if you asked him.

Kon knew he shouldn’t rummage through another person’s mail – especially his landlord’s. But he was Ichigo at the moment, right? And maybe it was something urgent. If so, then it was his sworn duty to investigate!

Hehe, perfect loophole. I’m a genius! The mod soul thought.

Grabbing a pair of scissors from a desk drawer, he cut the package open. Kon looked inside; there was some filling, like when you wanted to prevent fragile goods breaking, as well as a letter and… a pen?

“Is this some kind of joke?” Kon muttered lowly.

The small object looked, well, almost like any other pen. There were only a few distinctions worth commenting on. For starters, the pen was colored a dark purple, with intricate engravings along the bottom. They resembled swirls and smooth lines. The design itself was simple, yet elegant. And atop the pen was a tiny, pebble-sized orb colored a mixture of black and purple. Strangely enough he recognized it from somewhere. Yet he’d never seen such a stone ever before in his life?

Kon put the pen down, and opened the letter instead. Maybe this would shed some light on whatever this was supposed to be.

“Dear Kurosaki-san, I’m glad to tell you that I recently made an incredible breakthrough in my research. My development of the Hōgyoku to be precise. You see, I have been trying to minimize its power, in an attempt to possibly counter Aizen in some way. But there’s no longer any need for that; you saw to that personally. Again, you have my deepest gratitude.”

“Nevertheless I kept this research just in case. It wouldn’t surprise me if Aizen had a failsafe or something. But two weeks ago, I made a marvelous discovery. It’s possible to condense the spiritual energy of the Hōgyoku, and create a weaker version. And you know me; I couldn’t pass up such a chance to broaden my scientific genius. The experiment was a success! Through hard work – and numerous explosions – I have created a mini-version of that powerful tool!”

“As you’re reading this, you might be wondering what this has to do with you, Kurosaki-san. Well, I’m ashamed to say that I have not yet fully apologized to you. For lying to you. For using Rukia to hide my creation. For not being better. Yes, even I, the infamous Kisuke Urahara, can admit he has his faults – don’t tell Yoruichi, though. That werecat would never let me forget. But again, consider this a formal apology for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

“In order for me to truly convey my sincerity, I have used the miniaturized version of the Hōgyoku to create quite the useful tool. In this package is a pen. You may have already noticed, but that pen contains that same mini-reality-bending power source, made by yours truly. It’s a device that draws upon its power, and thus alters reality. Think of it like this; you write your name on your eraser when you’re in school, no? It shows that the eraser is your property. Well, the Reality Pen – I’ve trademarked the name – has the same effect. But here’s the fun part. If you write your name on an eraser using this pen, everyone will accept your ownership as reality – no questions asked!”

“Certainly you understand the sheer amount of possibilities that such a powerful item holds. In fact, I was hesitant at first, considering the Reality Pen could be used for evil if fallen in the wrong hands. Which is why I hand it over to you, Kurosaki-san. Time and time again, you have proven to be a boy of integrity. You fought on our behalf and sacrificed so much. The Reality Pen is yours. Be responsible in how you use it, but have fun!”

“With kind and definitely not mischievous regards, Kisuke Urahara.”

Several seconds ticked by. The information inside the letter needed to be properly digested, after all. Kon sat there; calm and relaxed as he read the letter a second time. There was no emotion on his blank face. Slowly but steadily his mind processed the letter’s contents.

Then–

“Be responsible?! Hell no! I’m going to use Ichigo’s gift as much as I want, and for anything I want!” Kon laughed out loud – maybe a bit too maniacally.

This was the stuff of his deepest fantasies. A powerful item, which could potentially help him get laid? Why the hell would he be responsible with that?! Something like that was meant to be used. And if Urahara thought that Ichigo would, then he was sorely mistaken.

Kon knew his owner all too well. The orange-haired teen was too kind to take advantage of the pen. Besides, didn’t the shopkeeper say himself that Ichigo was a guy of principles and morality? But he himself had no such weaknesses. Or, well, he wasn’t going to do anything bad. He was just… really excited. That’s all. Kon wasn’t some kind of monster, who preyed on the weak or anything. All he looked for was entertainment.

Surely it wouldn’t matter if Kon borrowed the Reality Pen, no?

Yet at the same time, the mod soul was skeptical. Now that he was calming down, he realized that this could very well be a joke or trick. Urahara was a devious, sneaky man and a first-grade jester. Kon didn’t put it beside the guy to purposefully mess with Ichigo.

Wait. What if the pen was actually a bomb or something?

He eyed the object with care, taking note of the small stone attached to the pen. That was the power source, then. Kon pressed it; the orb was warm to the touch. Picking up the pen, he figured that the best way to make sure that this wasn’t a prank, was by giving it a try. It was the least he could do.

Kon thought long and hard on the perfect test subject. And eventually, he came up with… nothing.

“Agh! I don’t know how to get started at all.” The mod soul occupying a teenager’s body growled. He threw his hands in the air, lounging casually in the desk chair. “It’s not like I can just scribble my name on something, and see any immediate results. Or is that how it works? Sheesh, that prick Urahara wasn’t keen on details when writing that damn letter, was he? Knowing him, he did it on purpose.”

Twirling the pen around in his hand, he rubbed his chin in thought. Maybe it’d be better if he just did something – anything!

Kon looked down at the desk. Naturally, it belonged to Ichigo, like everything else inside this room. He didn’t have any possessions to speak off, aside from his plushie body. That was kind of depressing. But he was used to it, anyway. A mod soul wasn’t supposed to own anything. Which was ironic considering he spent more time at this desk than Ichigo ever did.

Without really thinking about it, he doodled his own name on the furniture. The single word was written in purple ink. Being too busy lamenting his circumstances, he missed how the ink glowed for a split second, before dulling immediately afterwards.