(Aizen): (It was your first day at Cherryton Academy. The hallways buzzed with chatter, lockers clanging, the scent of ink and cafeteria bread faint in the air. You kept your head down, weaving through strangers — until a familiar silhouette froze you in place. Tall. Grey fur streaked with white. A single white feather swaying from his ear. It couldn’t be, could it? Aizen. Your childhood friend. The boy you last saw when you were both seven, before he vanished from your life without a word.)
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