Enjoy the chapter. Every 50 power stones will unlock bonus chapters. I put a lot of effort into this chapter and modified some scenes; I think it turned out better this way. I'll be waiting for your reactions.
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The comment feed vanished again.
Not because of a glitch or a technical failure, but because, in front of thousands of glowing screens, people had simply forgotten how to react. Fingers hovered over keyboards. Thumbs froze above phones. For several long seconds, not a single message appeared.
The virtual silence was absolute.
"C–Captain Aizen…"
Momo Hinamori's voice-brought to life by Whisper-came out fragile, thin, almost unrecognizable. It wavered as though it might shatter at any moment. Her eyes trembled as they lifted, searching desperately for the face in front of her, as if hoping that what she saw was only a misunderstanding. A trick of the light. A cruel illusion.
"Why…?"
Why?
The question was not hers alone.
It lodged itself in the chest of every viewer, heavy and suffocating, too dense to be answered right away. It echoed through living rooms, bedrooms, studios, and break rooms alike, binding strangers together in the same stunned disbelief.
Only minutes earlier, everything had been wrapped in a calm so gentle it felt almost merciful. The reunion had unfolded softly-quiet smiles, familiar voices, exchanged glances that carried years of shared history. It was the kind of moment that reassured you that some things, at least, remained pure.
Hinamori's devotion.
Her sincerity.
Her absolute faith.
For a fleeting instant, it seemed that all of it had finally been rewarded.
And then-
the blade pierced through.
The reversal was brutal. Not because of the violence itself, but because of the cold precision with which it was delivered. There was no hesitation, no visible struggle, no trace of doubt. It happened as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As the seconds stretched on and no explanation came, Sōsuke Aizen perfectly silent. The familiar smile still curved his lips, serene and composed, but the warmth that once lived behind the lenses of his glasses was gone.
In its place remained only emptiness.
An emptiness too controlled, too tranquil, to belong to a human heart.
Hinamori's body finally gave in. It crumpled to the floor of the hall like something that had lost its purpose the moment it was discarded. There was no dramatic fall, no lingering movement-just a quiet collapse against cold stone.
Aizen withdrew his Zanpakutō with a precise, almost considerate motion. The blade slid free without resistance. There was no rush. No sign of regret. Only routine, as though he were finishing an ordinary task.
Then his gaze shifted.
Gin Ichimaru stood at a distance, having witnessed everything. His expression had not changed-not even by a fraction. The usual curve of his eyes remained, unreadable as ever.
"Let's go, Gin."
"Yes, Captain Aizen."
They turned and walked away together.
The camera did not follow them.
Instead, the final frame lingered.
Hinamori lay stretched across the marble floor, her blood slowly spreading, staining the pale surface in irregular patterns. The contrast was cruelly beautiful, and the stillness of the shot forced the audience to confront what had just been taken away.
…
…
"My God…" someone whispered, unaware that they had already said the same words three times before.
On the set of The Four Great Detectives, the lunch break had officially ended-but no one moved.
Bruce Walts was still holding his utensils when the episode finished. The fork hovered midair, forgotten. He blinked several times, as though his body needed to relearn a basic function it had temporarily abandoned-like breathing.
Around him, the other actors sat frozen in similar states. Rebecca Verne stared at the screen long after it had gone dark. Others looked away, rubbing their faces or staring at nothing at all.
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
The shock hung in the air, thick and oppressive.
"That… that's not normal," someone finally said, their voice low, almost offended, as if the story itself had crossed an unspoken line.
When the notification for the next episode appeared, Bruce was the first to recover.
"There's still one more," he said quickly-too quickly. "Play it. Now."
"Bruce."
The director's voice cut through the tension, firm and grounded in reality. "Break is over. Every minute we sit here costs money. Real money."
He crossed his arms, irritation clear on his face.
"Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep this set idle?" he continued. "Lights, crew, location fees… we're talking easily a thousand dollars per half hour."
Silence spread again.
For a moment, it seemed inevitable that people would stand up and return to work.
Then Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"We'll pay."
The director frowned.
"What did you say?"
"A thousand dollars," Bruce repeated, his calm now unsettling. "Split between us. I'll cover my share. And if that's not enough, I'll pay more."
Another actor nodded without hesitation.
"I'm in."
"Same."
Rebecca exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before looking at the director.
"Honestly," she said, her tone sincere, "if I step back onto that set right now, my head won't be there. I won't deliver a single decent line. Not after that."
A brief silence followed.
The director studied their faces carefully. What he saw wasn't irresponsibility. It was restlessness-professionals who simply could not refocus while that story remained unresolved.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"You're unbelievable…" he muttered.
Then he waved his hand in resignation.
"Thirty minutes," he said. "Just thirty. And you're covering it."
Relief swept through the room instantly.
Someone pressed play before he even finished speaking.
…
No one paid attention to the opening.
The next episode began without ceremony.
The questions were already piling up, too sharp and urgent to ignore.
How was Aizen alive?
Why did he kill Hinamori?
And why did Gin-long treated as the obvious suspect-follow him with such unquestioning obedience?
In dozens of different places, different people did the same thing at the same time: they leaned forward, held their breath, and surrendered completely to the screen.
The scene opened with Aizen and Gin about to leave the hall.
Then hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Tōshirō Hitsugaya-played by Peter-burst into frame, arriving at the precise moment the two crossed his path.
In a cramped student dorm room, a young man jumped to his feet, pointing at the screen.
"That's me! Look! I'm there!"
His roommates turned to stare at him, their reactions split between nervous laughter and unmistakable envy.
Being part of Bleach was already improbable.
Playing a captain…?
That wasn't just luck.
That was the kind of role that rewrote futures.
And as the conspiracy deepened on-screen, a quiet certainty settled into everyone watching:
Nothing in that story was truly sweet.
And those who had believed otherwise-
would pay the price.