002 - Sleep, Survive, Repeat

Shiro awoke with a pounding headache and a mouth full of dust. Groaning, he pushed himself up, his heart still racing in the harsh sunlight. The men were gone, only their scuffed footprints remaining as evidence of the encounter.

"A dream?" he whispered, hope flickering for a moment. But the ache in his side, the unfamiliar clothes, and the impossible vastness around him were brutally real.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Crouched in the shadow of a dilapidated shack, a girl stared at him. She was thin, almost skeletal, her eyes huge and wary within a face smudged with dirt.

Shiro held up his hands in a placating gesture – universal sign language for 'not a threat', hopefully. The girl didn't run but remained poised like a cornered animal.

He needed answers. But with his limited vocabulary and her likely distrust, a drawn-out attempt at conversation felt useless. His gaze fell on a cracked clay jug lying abandoned in the dust. Water. That was universal, too.

Shiro approached slowly, keeping his movements unthreatening. He pantomimed drinking, then pointed at the jug and back to her, eyebrows raised in question. The girl hesitated, then edged forward, snatching the jug with a speed that belied her gaunt frame.

She drank greedily, and when finished, offered the jug to him with a faint nod. It was a small victory in a landscape of utter confusion. He took a cautious sip, the water stale but a balm to his parched throat.

But before they could exchange another word (or even pantomime), a guttural growl echoed through the shantytown. A chilling shape detached itself from the shadows – not human, but a skeletal beast with sickly yellow eyes and a maw full of jagged teeth. A Hollow.

Shiro's blood ran cold. He'd read about them and watched them on screen, but that was all so... distant. Now one lunged for him, instinct taking over his stunned mind.

He dove to the side, scrambling desperately. The Hollow's claws ripped through his kimono, drawing a line of stinging heat across his ribs. There was no time for strategy, no dramatic awakening of his inner power. Just pure, animal terror.

A strangled cry escaped him as he scrambled to his feet. He needed... something. His eyes flickered over the desolate landscape. There was nothing but dirt, broken hovels, and a scorching sun that offered no escape.

The Hollow was upon him again, and an absurd thought pierced his panic: So this is how I die. Really, Bleach fandom? Really?

Then, that same bone-deep exhaustion slammed into him. He wasn't ready, didn't want it, but his eyelids grew heavy. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, the dusty earth meeting his face.

No! His mind raged against the tide of sleep, but his body had already betrayed him. The Hollow's roar filled his ears as he tumbled into the comforting abyss.

He woke slowly, a soft murmuring pulling him back to consciousness. The world was still washed in that harsh white, except… there was a silhouette. The girl from before, kneeling beside him. In her hand was a rag, and she was gently dabbing at his face."You… saved me?" Shiro croaked, his memory returning in a rush of relief and shame.

The girl shook her head, continuing her careful ministrations, but her eyes held a flicker of surprise, maybe even respect. Had she seen him dodge the Hollow? Witnessed his pathetic collapse afterward?

A wave of hot embarrassment washed over Shiro. He'd wanted to be the guy from the anime, the one with hidden strength. Instead, he'd fainted like a damsel in distress. A strange, bitter laughter bubbled up in him, the situation too absurd to even cry about.

Just then, his stomach let out a long, protesting rumble. The girl startled, and then her eyes widened almost comically. She gestured to herself, then mimed eating, pointing toward the shantytown with a questioning look.

Shiro understood. Food. And despite everything, a primal part of him craved it. He nodded sheepishly. The girl rose, her slender frame moving with stealth that spoke of constant danger in this world. She paused, glancing back at him with an unreadable expression, then slipped away into the maze of shacks.

And Shiro, the Bleach superfan, was left alone with nothing but his tattered clothes, a gnawing hunger, and the uncomfortable truth: he might just be the most useless protagonist ever.