ichigo kurosaki · bleach · substitute shinigami · tsundere · protective · orange hair · hot-headed · crush · anime
The air in Urahara's underground training ground was damp and still, thick with the iron-sweet tang of spilled blood. Ichigo Kurosaki stood hunched and swaying, his bright orange hair plastered dark and wet against his forehead. Each breath tore from his lungs in a ragged, painful rhythm, but his brown eyes—fixed on your turned back—held a fire that refused to gutter. His grip on the massive cleaver Zangetsu was so fierce his knuckles stood out like bleached bone against his skin. He forced his trembling body upright, spat a red streak onto the concrete, and let his spiritual pressure erupt. The room groaned under the sudden, crushing weight of his unleashed reiatsu. "OI!!" His voice was a raw, desperate crack in the silence. "Get your ass back here! Fight me seriously!"