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In the barracks of the Fifth Division, Aizen SĹŤsuke sat in quiet concentration, brush in hand, his calligraphy flowing across the paper with the same serenity he wore on his face.
The door slid open, then shut swiftly. A figure in a dark cloak stepped forward, his skin brown, his hair violet, goggles covering his eyes. It was TĹŤsen Kaname, captain of the Ninth Division.
"How are things progressing?" Aizen asked, setting down his brush, his smile calm and springlike.
"Master Aizen," TĹŤsen replied, bowing slightly, "just as you foresaw. Kurosaki Ichigo survived Gillian's Cero and not only lived but repelled it. Furthermore, I found Rukia Kuchiki in Karakura Town, though her spiritual pressure has all but vanished."
He cast a brief glance at Ichimaru Gin, who leaned nearby with his perpetual grin, then lowered his head again as he reported every detail.
Aizen rose, pushing his glasses up with one hand. "So, it unfolds exactly as expected."
"Yet there is something strange," TĹŤsen continued, voice tinged with unease. "Kurosaki Ichigo's Reiatsu shifts constantly. At first, it was barely that of a seated officer. But after Gillian's Cero struck him, his Reiatsu swelled, growing explosively, until it reached vice-captain level."
"Precisely as planned," Aizen replied smoothly. "Do not be concerned. Everything is moving within my design. You may return. The time has come to set the next phase in motion."
"Yes, Master Aizen." TĹŤsen bowed and departed.
As the door closed, Aizen's expression never wavered. With a flick of his hand, a black cloak emerged from a drawer, the fabric woven with spells to mask spiritual pressure. He slipped it over his shoulders, drew Bakudō #26 — Kyokko — around himself to bend light and sound, then left the Fifth Division, a shadow drifting toward his destination.
Elsewhere, Shiraha walked through the streets of Seireitei toward the Eighth Division.
"Captain Shiraha!"
"Greetings, Captain!"
"Captain Shiraha is so handsome."
Shinigami along the path bowed as he passed. He smiled faintly, returning their greetings.
But then a voice rang in his mind.
Sign-in task: Register at Central 46. Time limit: one hour. Reward: Gojo Satoru template progress +10%.
Shiraha halted outside the Eighth Division gates. "Central 46? One hour? Then… Aizen must be making his move already." His eyes narrowed.
If the task was bound to Central 46 and restricted by time, it could mean only one thing: Aizen's purge was imminent.
"With my current strength… even Aizen cannot touch me," he thought. "Kyōka Suigetsu holds no sway over me, and my limitless barrier negates his blows. But I cannot wound him either. Still, the reward is worth it. Completion raises my Gojo template to sixty percent. That unlocks the path toward the third template."
He glanced toward the Eighth Division. Using his perception, he sensed KyĹŤraku Shunsui drinking casually with Ukitake JĹ«shirĹŤ while Ise Nanao poured sake with a weary look.
"Captain KyĹŤraku, it seems I'll have to skip our drink today," Shiraha murmured.
In the next instant, he vanished, invoking Cang to surge toward Central 46.
Deep within the inner court of Seireitei stood the hidden complex of Central 46 — forty sages and six judges, the supreme judicial body of Soul Society. Guards drawn from Kidō Corps, Onmitsukidō, and the Gotei 13 patrolled constantly outside its chamber.
Yet cloaked in black and veiled by Kyokko, Aizen moved through their defenses without effort. Every guard had already fallen under KyĹŤka Suigetsu's Complete Hypnosis.
He stepped into the underground hall, where the sages and judges presided on their elevated seats.
"Who are you?" one demanded.
"Do you understand what place this is?" another thundered.
"Bold lunatic!"
Their voices overlapped in outrage until Aizen pulled back his hood, revealing his face.
"What a stagnant, rotting court," he said softly, his smile gentle.
"Aizen SĹŤsuke! Captain of the Fifth Division!"
"What do you intend?"
"This chamber is forbidden even to captains!"
"Guards! Remove him at once!"
"Aizen Sōsuke, I order you—leave immediately!"
Their cries rang through the chamber, but the guards outside remained motionless, trapped in illusion.
"Would you all be so kind," Aizen said, drawing his ZanpakutĹŤ with a deliberate grace, "as to quiet yourselves?"
"Aizen Sōsuke! To bare your blade here means treach—"
The sentence ended in a spray of blood. A line opened across the judge's throat, his body collapsing to the floor, crimson spreading beneath him.
"Arrogance!" one shrieked.
"Where are the guards? Why do they not come?"
"You rebel! Do you grasp what you are doing?"
Panic consumed the chamber. Some screamed, some tried to flee, but Aizen's steps were calm, measured. The blade in his hand fell again and again, cold steel glinting under the lamps as terror distorted on every face it touched.
One by one, their cries ended. The hall fell silent, filled only with the heavy stench of blood.
Forty sages and six judges lay lifeless, their robes stained, their bodies sprawled across the floor of the chamber that once ruled all of Soul Society.
Aizen slid KyĹŤka Suigetsu back into its sheath, his smile untouched. "Dust is dust. Whether one speck or fifty, the difference cannot be seen by the eye."
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