"Cut in half!"
"One clean slash!"
On screen, the strike came out of nowhere.
No one watching could have predicted it.
The razor-sharp edge of Shinso, Ichimaru Gin's Zanpakutō—
the same blade already proven to extend infinitely—
suddenly burst forth again, turning into a flash of white light that split the air.
From the void behind Aizen, the blade shot forward at blinding speed—
and pierced through Sarugaki Hiyori's waist.
Her body was violently torn in two.
"Ah—!"
"That's one down."
The camera panned, revealing Gin's figure.
He stood sideways, blade extended, wearing that same fox-like grin.
Anyone who saw it felt their scalp crawl and their blood chill.
That smile—smiling while killing.
It was the perfect embodiment of "a knife hidden behind a smile."
A killer without a trace.
"Hiyori!!!"
In both the present and the future,
two versions of Hirako Shinji screamed her name.
He shunpoed forward, catching her severed body in his arms,
but the damage was fatal.
Blood gushed from the wound like a fountain, soaking his uniform scarlet.
The footage froze—
and even through the screen, the illusion of blood filled the air.
Viewers felt as if they could smell iron and smoke.
"Insane…"
"Just one slash!"
"Four hundred years of captain-level experience, gone in an instant!"
"Ichimaru Gin's Shinso is terrifying!"
In the First Division, the captains drew a collective breath.
Even as spectators, the shock was visceral.
Every captain watching felt a chill crawl down their spines.
Even Kenpachi Zaraki, who lived for battle,
narrowed his eyes.
For once, his expression grew serious.
He had to admit—
though both of them wielded straightforward melee-type Zanpakutōs,
Gin's Shinso was far more sinister,
and infinitely more difficult to fight.
Just moments ago, Gin had crushed Hyōrinmaru.
Now he'd bisected a Visored captain in a single stroke.
Two captains defeated in a row.
Undeniable proof of power.
Hueco Mundo, Las Noches.
The Arrancar felt no joy either.
They'd known Gin lurked nearby,
always close to Aizen, like a shadow.
Whether in the present or the future,
he stood smiling beside the throne—
one hand forever brushing the hilt of Shinso beneath his white sleeve.
And everyone knew what that meant.
As long as Gin wanted to,
the same fate could befall any of them.
If any Hollow or Arrancar ever dared move against Aizen—
Gin's blade would reach them before they even blinked.
It wasn't fear of Gin's loyalty.
It was fear of his speed.
Shinso's reach and velocity—
so fast it surpassed light itself—
made him untouchable.
Even Tōsen Kaname couldn't inspire that kind of dread.
Among the Espada, Gin's position was absolute.
Second only to Aizen.
Untouchable.
"Heh…"
"Captain Aizen, looks like my future self didn't let you down."
"No one dares provoke us, not even those so-called Visoreds."
Gin's tone was lazy, but his words dripped with venom.
A bloodied Hiyori meant nothing to him.
As far as he was concerned,
the Visoreds were nothing more than noisy insects—
a rabble of failed experiments.
"Even if they came at me together, I could wipe out three in one breath,"
he said with that same fox-smile.
"And that's just with Shinso's Shikai."
Because deep down,
he knew the truth no one else did:
the Bankai of Shinso—its hidden ability—
was his real trump card.
His secret weapon.
The one technique capable of killing Aizen Sōsuke himself.
"Well done, Gin," Aizen said calmly from his throne, smiling faintly.
"It's almost nostalgic. The Visoreds' despair… just like a hundred years ago."
"Their hearts will break all over again."
He was right.
Back in the Visoreds' abandoned warehouse,
Hiyori screamed.
She saw her own death onscreen and burst into tears.
Shinji and the others rushed to her side,
trying to comfort her through their own shock.
The atmosphere collapsed into despair.
Just earlier, Hiyori had stood in front of the screen,
boasting that she'd cut Aizen into a thousand pieces herself.
Now that vow felt like mockery.
The future version of herself had been sliced cleanly in two.
The footage dimmed, slowing down,
then faded completely to black.
The segment ended—
and the Visoreds' reputation as "the moving punching bags of the series" was now set in stone.
No matter where they appeared,
the result was always the same—
defeat, humiliation, pain.
They had become the eternal background props of the ranking show.
Before the viewers could even recover from that shock,
the next clip began.
The screen brightened again.
A new battle was revealed.
"Clang—!"
Two figures collided in midair—
one black, one white—
their blades flashing as they crossed.
It lasted only seconds.
But as the camera focused,
the second fighter's face came into view—
and the living world erupted in gasps.
"Wait—! Is that Ichigo?!"
"He's… actually handsome?!"
"What's with the black tailcoat?! That outfit's awesome!"
"Even his Zanpakutō looks completely different—slimmer, sharper!"
Karakura Town's students were shouting at their screens.
Yes—
this was Ichigo Kurosaki, post-Bankai.
Both hands gripping his blade, calm and confident,
his form refined, his aura sharper.
And what stunned everyone most:
he was evenly matched with Ichimaru Gin.
The same Gin who had just killed a captain with one hit.
Ichigo wasn't losing ground at all.
He'd become something else entirely.
Stronger.
Faster.
A true powerhouse.
"Ahaha… Rukia, you were right," Ichigo said, smiling as he watched.
"That was me on that battlefield."
"And the one I fought was this bastard—Aizen's right hand himself."
His orange hair glowed faintly in the screen's light.
For once, his smile was not naïve—
it was determined.
Through these public "rankings,"
he'd come to understand the whole world of the Shinigami,
the scale of its power, its hierarchies, its cruelty.
He was growing—absorbing everything like a sponge.
"But, Ichigo…" Inoue Orihime's voice trembled,
"If even those captains were killed by Gin,
aren't you in danger too?"
Her eyes lingered on the man with the fox grin.
The elegant coat.
The calm eyes that hid death.
Even now, Aizen and Gin's composed expressions
sent chills down her spine.
She knew Ichigo was brave—
but Gin Ichimaru was inhuman.
Hueco Mundo, Throne Room.
Aizen rested his chin on his hand, watching the footage.
Gin's smirk deepened beside him.
"Bankai or not," Gin murmured, "a human's still just a toy once my blade starts moving."
"Let's see if this boy can even follow my speed—five hundred times the speed of sound."
And as his future self on screen moved,
the air itself bent,
leaving a trail of white lightning where Shinso had passed.
(End of Chapter)
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