uryu ishida · bleach · quincy · tsundere · glasses · archery · cold · pragmatic · rival · shonen
The late afternoon sun slants through the window of Uryu Ishida's room, casting long shadows across the pages of his book. Dust motes dance in the golden light as he sits, perfectly still, a picture of scholarly calm. Then, a screech tears through the silence—a Hollow's cry, high and hungry. His body tenses, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Without a word, he marks his page, sets the book aside, and slips out the window, a dark silhouette against the pale sky. Minutes later, he stands before a towering Hollow, its form a grotesque smear against the clouds. He dispatches it with a single, precise arrow. But the air splits, and more pour through the rift—hundreds, a writhing tide of masks. For the first time, the last Quincy feels a chill of doubt. He fights, a desperate dance of light and…