It was another one of those nights where your body still hummed with the day's momentum, but your mind had already begun sliding into that sweet, dangerous kind of exhaustion - almost addictive in the way it softened the edges of everything. Alex let himself sink into the bed like a man returning from a short, brutal war, and Megan - stretched out beside him with the effortless confidence of someone who never asks permission to take up space - looked far too pleased with the silence that settled after the storm.
And, to be clear, her son had already been sent back. Megan could be bold, shameless, "American" in the way people pretended not to notice, but doing certain things while the kid slept next door was a level of audacity even she didn't want to wear. There was still a sliver of decency in her somewhere - or, at the very least, a survival instinct.
Alex stared at the ceiling for a while, weighing whether it was worth teaching Megan a new word - something short and sharp they could turn into a private joke later. He was right in the middle of deciding if "emoji" belonged in their little shared dictionary when his phone buzzed.
Emily's international call lit up the screen as if the world had suddenly remembered - oh, right - there was still noise outside.
"Hahaha… have you checked X?" she asked, laughing with the kind of gleeful cruelty that only exists when chaos isn't happening to you. "Rebecca Verne's fans are tearing you apart in your official comments."
Alex frowned, not getting it at first. He'd spent the whole day filming without seeing real sunlight, living from take to take, while the rest of the planet kept moving like nothing had changed. Still, Emily's laugh wasn't random. When she laughed like that, it meant the fire had already started.
He opened the app.
Ten seconds later, it all clicked.
While he was grinding through sleepless nights in the States, Bleach: The Arrancar Arc had kept updating with machine-like punctuality. The audience followed each episode like a ritual, and that week the script had poured gasoline on a very specific spot: after the encounter with little Nel, Samantha Burnes and Renji Abarai had finally stepped onto the stage.
And they didn't step in politely.
They defied Commander Jack Creed's direct orders, crossed into Hueco Mundo, and went after Ichigo. It wasn't a clean, heroic gesture. It was heavy - reckless - carrying that raw, adolescent instinct of if I don't do it, no one will, except this time the cost wasn't pride. It was lives. From that point on, the war against the Espada stopped being a distant threat and became an outright collision.
The matchups were brutal, and the internet loved brutality when it came packaged as drama.
Samantha Burnes versus Aaroniero Arruruerie, the Ninth Espada.
Renji and Joe Sullivan versus Szayelaporro Granz, the Eighth.
And the cruelest part was that Samantha's fight had barely begun when it landed the kind of opening punch people never forget - the kind that makes you sit up straighter without realizing. Because beneath the enemy's mask, the face that emerged was Mark's.
Not Mark "sort of." Not Mark "close enough."
Mark - with makeup, subtle alterations, but unmistakable enough to short-circuit an entire fandom in one heartbeat.
But while the audience was still trapped in shock, Samantha didn't say "Ichigo."
She said another name, her voice trembling in a place that wasn't fear.
"Kaien…"
And then the cut came - the kind that rips your heart out of the timeline and throws you into a past that hurts without asking permission.
The man in front of her wasn't Ichigo. He was Kaien Shiba, Samantha's former superior in the Thirteenth Division. The kind of figure who, in memory, becomes more than a person - he becomes shelter, becomes guilt, becomes an open wound. And in the middle of that flashback, the story introduced a new face - and that was when social media truly lost its mind.
Rebecca Verne appeared as a shinigami of the Thirteenth Division, an officer with rank and presence… and more than that, Kaien's wife.
Beautiful on an absurd level - the kind of presence that makes even non-fans stop and stare. A face that could easily fight for "top three" in the entire Bleach lineup. Naturally, the internet began rewriting reality in real time. A crowd of self-proclaimed experts had sworn she'd play someone huge - some secret tie to Alex, an old romance, a past that would tilt the series onto a new axis.
But no.
And that was exactly where people felt personally punched in the throat. Because within a single episode, Rebecca's character was killed by a hollow with the ability to devour.
Killed.
Closed.
No return.
With fewer than three lines.
The comment sections turned into a stadium on championship night.
"Wait - no. Rebecca's only in ONE episode?"
"Alex, you bastard, get in here! You made her a glorified extra? Are you insane?"
"Everyone calm down. There'll be a twist. Alex always pulls twists. Like in Soul Society, when - "
Hope became a life buoy. Rebecca's fans clung to it for a full week, grinding their teeth to keep themselves from saying what they really wanted.
Then the next update dropped - and the blade was cold.
Kaien, consumed by vengeance, died to that same devouring hollow as well. And in the end it was Samantha who killed him, in one of those moments where you realize that "doing the right thing" sometimes just means "carrying the weight."
The narrative returned to the present. The fight against Aaroniero resumed. And with that return, the internet understood: the flashback was over. There was no hidden reversal. No magic tucked away. Kaien and his wife were dead. End of story.
For the overwhelming majority of Bleach fans, none of that changed what mattered. What they cared about now was whether Samantha could defeat her own trauma and bring down an Espada who was using the face of someone she loved as a psychological weapon.
But Rebecca's fans didn't care about any of that.
They became keyboard soldiers, and the comment sections under Alex's profile and Aurora Entertainment's official account turned into a battlefield.
"ALEX, YOU TRASH - GET OUT HERE AND EXPLAIN!"
"Why give Rebecca a role that small? That's humiliating!"
"Rebecca, let's go. You don't have to take this. Never work with this guy again!"
"I'm done. I'll never watch anything he touches."
It didn't take long for the other side to bite back with the same poison.
"For God's sake, Rebecca's fans really think the universe revolves around them."
"She's 'leading-role' level? Are you kidding me?"
"And by the way - back in the Soul Society arc, Alex invited her for a major role. She's the one who didn't take it. Cry now?"
"Hahaha. They swore she was essential… turns out she's an extra with commercial-level screen time."
"If you stop watching, fine. Do you have any idea how many millions of fans Bleach has worldwide? The show won't miss you for a second."
…
Alex watched the storm for a while, and his silence wasn't surprise - it was calculation. For a few beats, his expression hardened, as if he were staring at something that didn't need defending.
There was no point lying to himself: he'd used Rebecca's popularity as leverage. Her name bought headlines, clicks, arguments. And yes - he didn't trust her enough to carry a major role with the weight Bleach demanded. In his memory lived recent performances of hers that had returned with all the pomp in the world… and delivered far less than promised.
Emily was still laughing on the other end, feeding on the chaos like it was a reality show.
Alex tossed her a few lazy replies, then ended the call like closing a door. His hand slid back to Megan's waist, searching for the warmth of the present, because none of that online screaming had any real weight.
It was just noise.
Bleach didn't need Rebecca's "handful" of fans. Even if every last one of them left - and he knew most were just threatening, only to come crawling back the next week with an embarrassed okay, fine, it was good - the impact would be practically nothing. The world was too big. The fandom was too big.
But right as he was about to forget the whole thing, his phone rang again.
The name on the screen made his brows lift.
Rebecca Verne.
For a split second, the idea of a confrontation crossed his mind - then died before it could take root. If she wanted to accuse him, she wouldn't have accepted the role in the first place. She'd known exactly what she was stepping into.
He answered.
On the other end, her voice came low and careful, as if she were measuring every word so she wouldn't make a situation worse - especially one that wasn't really her fault.
"Director Alex… I - I'm sorry. It looks like my fans are causing you trouble."
Alex went silent for half a second, surprised not by the call, but by the posture. It was too humble - unless she was trying to protect her image. Maybe both.
And "Director Alex" meant something too. Before, she'd spoken with light familiarity, the kind of nickname people use when they think they're close. Now there was polished formality, and it wasn't neutral. It was a subtle signal that emotion existed there, no matter how tightly controlled.
He let out a short, almost amused breath.
"It's nothing. And… maybe next time we do it differently. I'll let you try a supporting role."
He said it like it was simple, almost a casual favor. But in his head, that's what it was: a step up. A concession. In his world, Rebecca had been "special appearance." Now she'd been promoted to "supporting." A clean way of saying: I noticed you. You behaved. I'll give you a little more.
On her end, the silence lasted long enough to expose the conflict. She'd built her career as a lead. "Supporting" wasn't a prize in her world - it was… strange. A compliment that tasted like a demotion. But it was also an opportunity, and no one in any industry throws opportunities away without thinking twice.
"I… thank you, Director Alex," she finally said, her voice holding her pride by the fingernails.
And that was when fate - cruel, bored, and always on time - kicked the door in.
In the background of the call, a woman's voice drifted in: lazy, slow, dripping promises.
"Aizen… I'm rested. One more time."
In English. Clear. Far too intimate to be mistaken for anything else.
Rebecca might have grown up elsewhere, but she understood English just as well as she understood humiliation rising in her throat.
And as if that weren't enough, an absurdly specific sound followed - soft and deliberate - the unmistakable noise of someone slowly sucking on a popsicle, provocative in the way it made time feel unhurried.
On the other end, silence detonated.
Alex heard a dull thud, as if something had been thrown. The call ended in an instant, without goodbye.
In Rebecca's apartment, the cat curled at the corner of her bed startled so hard it launched under the couch in a ridiculous leap, like it had just witnessed a crime.
For a moment, the animal froze there, eyes wide and shining in the dark.
If it had a mouth and human awareness, it probably would've screamed, in pure panic:
"Lawyer! Where's my lawyer?!"
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