"But! Look at them!"
Kyoraku Shunsui's finger trembled slightly as he pointed.
On the battlefield, Aizen and Rosse clashed head-on with the fake Ukitake once again.
Blades rang out endlessly. Steel collided without pause.
Yet the expressions on their faces showed nothing but focus on the fight. Not the slightest hint of something being off.
It was too natural.
As if they were truly battling a fallen traitor.
Not only was it unreasonable, it was absurd.
With minds as meticulous as Aizen's and Rosse's, how could they possibly fail to notice such a fundamental inconsistency?
And if the two of them were the masterminds, with their intelligence, they should have known that Kyoraku, watching from the side, could spot this logical flaw.
If they had thought of that, why leave such a glaring loophole?
"So… it's on purpose?"
The color drained from Kyoraku's face, leaving only pale green and white.
There had been no oversight. No mistake.
This was blatant mockery. A performance that did not even bother to patch its own holes.
"No need to guess anymore, Jushiro. We can be certain now."
Kyoraku's voice carried a despair he had never shown before, as though all strength had been pulled from him.
"Both of them."
"Both are enemies of Soul Society."
"And they don't even care that we've seen through it. It's like they're telling us, 'So what if you figured it out? What can you do about it?'"
Knowing the truth felt far more suffocating than being deceived.
Kyoraku felt cold to the bone.
One of them was the model gentleman, admired by every young Shinigami.
The other was the acting Captain-Commander who had turned the tide in crisis, respected by all thirteen divisions.
And in the end?
The two men standing at the pinnacle of power and authority, both were undercover agents.
Both were nails driven into Soul Society by the Hueco Mundo Royal Palace.
Even the justice they were desperately protecting was part of the opponent's stage.
"Honestly… it would've been better not knowing."
Kyoraku forced a smile uglier than a grimace, eyes hollow as he stared at the ongoing slaughter.
"If you told me right now the old man was also a plant from Hueco Mundo, I might even believe it."
'Is there anything left to save?'
"Then what about the Captain-Commander's side? If blade clashes expose the disguise, he's exchanged hundreds of strikes with the fake you by now."
Azashiro Soya looked toward the distance.
Flames soared skyward. Every swing of Ryujin Jakka made space itself wail.
The fake Kyoraku seemed relaxed, dual blades intercepting every strike.
Each collision was solid steel against steel. Sparks flew a hundred meters.
By Kyoraku's own logic, Yamamoto's battle instincts should have sensed something wrong long ago.
"Ah… because that fake me might really have my soul's signature," Kyoraku sighed and scratched his head.
"Thinking about it now, Rosse's Bankai is shameless beyond reason. He said it himself. It can project a person from a certain point in time."
"And it perfectly replicates spiritual pressure too?"
Ukitake looked stunned. He had not been present at the time and only heard fragments later.
Compared to Masaki's sudden appearance back then, he had paid less attention to Rosse.
At the time, Rosse had been one of them.
"The evidence speaks for itself. I can't think of any other reason that would fool the old man's instincts," Kyoraku shrugged, "Anyway, the one fighting him definitely isn't me."
"Heh! Such pointless struggle."
A cool, faintly mocking voice cut in.
"You'd rather burn brain cells guessing than believe what I told you from the beginning. Even now that you've reached the same conclusion, how is it any different from what I said earlier?", Kurosaki Masaki did not even look at them.
She stood elegantly, gaze fixed on the distant figure as if he were the center of her world.
From start to finish, this had only been Rosse's game.
If it were her, these noisy insects would already be corpses.
Their only value lay in providing amusement.
"Well, people always prefer conclusions they arrive at themselves."
Kyoraku smiled lightly, unbothered by the mockery.
"In the end, this is my fault. I shouldn't have hesitated. If I had taken control of the 13 Divisions earlier, even confined the old man if necessary, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."
"Would it make a difference?"
Masaki's tone remained flat.
"You think your hesitation caused this? Have you considered that no matter what choice you made, no matter how you struggled, every branch of possibility would flow into the sea he desired?"
Kyoraku's eyes sharpened.
Hearing such fatalism from a top-tier powerhouse carried weight.
"So Rosse is your so-called omniscient being."
He lowered his hat slightly, tone casual as he probed.
"I'm curious. Among the Espada, where does he rank? We've met the Twentieth. Strong, sure. But not this suffocating."
"Do you really think the Espada are strong?"
Masaki turned her head for the first time. Something strange flickered in her eyes.
"Is that even a question?"
Kyoraku gestured at the burning battlefield.
"You're just standing there and suppressing Azashiro's ability. Your base spiritual pressure rivals the old man's Bankai. If that's not strong, what is?"
But there was no pride in her eyes. Only faint self-mockery.
"You don't understand true strength."
"In front of him, I cannot even muster the thought of resistance. Not in mind. Not in body."
Her voice turned distant.
"No matter how far the Espada evolve, in his eyes we are merely collectibles on a shelf. To wield a blade capable of destroying the world, the one holding it must naturally possess power beyond the combined might of all ten blades."
Kyoraku's fingers twitched inside his sleeve.
This was not just a difference in strength. It was complete domestication.
And her words implied Rosse was the king above Hueco Mundo.
But how could such a being exist?
Masaki had once had a family. She was not born a monster.
For someone like her to submit so completely, either her family had been used as leverage, or Rosse's power had carved the thought "resistance means death" into her bones, leaving only the instinct that obedience meant survival.
"Tch! Does a monster that strong really exist? If so, why bother with this whole play? Why not just crush us outright?"
Kyoraku forced a flippant tone to mask his shock.
The King of Hueco Mundo infiltrating Soul Society and climbing to the top.
He did not know whether to feel honored or pitiful.
They had taken this seriously.
And once they did, they stood no chance.
"Some people only care about the result. Others enjoy the process."
Masaki glanced at him, seeing through his clumsy provocation.
"He isn't in a hurry because he belongs to the latter. He likes watching ants struggle on the board for false hope."
"He's waiting for us to kneel like that Great Weaver did? Or to die one by one for his amusement?", Kyoraku laughed dryly.
He could now understand why Shutara had defected from the Royal Guard.
If Rosse truly surpassed even the Espada, he might not be far from the Soul King.
And the Soul King's condition was… not good.
"Honestly… your perception is terrible. You think Shutara was just slightly stronger than me? In reality, she's far more miserable."
"Miserable?", Kyoraku caught the word instantly.
"Isn't she one of your Royal-level figures? The Great Weaver?"
"Royal-level?"
Masaki let out a faint, mocking smile.
"That's only what you heard from him. The Hueco Mundo Royal Palace has always had only one king."
Boom!
The information hit like a bomb.
If there was only one king, then the so-called Great Weaver…
Rosse's Bankai could project figures from history.
"Don't tell me that Great Weaver was just another projection from Rosse?"
Ukitake's voice trembled.
"That… actually makes sense."
Kyoraku's mind raced back to that battle.
Shutara's reckless fighting. Her survival under Yamamoto's Bankai.
If she had been disposable, something that could be summoned again, everything made sense.
There had never been other royal figures.
From the start, she had been fake. Everything she said was false.
The so-called upper echelon of Hueco Mundo might have been Rosse's one-man show.
That deception chilled deeper than brute force.
Soul Society, even the Royal Guard, had been spun around his finger.
"Judging by your expressions, you're wondering where the real Shutara is."
Since Rosse had not stopped her, Masaki did not mind venting a little.
"She's alive?"
Kyoraku's eyes lit up. If she was alive, perhaps Rosse could not fully override the Oken. Perhaps sealing was required. That meant hope.
"Alive? Heh!"
Her expression grew complicated, a mix of pity and fear.
"She isn't dead. But compared to living, she probably prays for release every second."
"Compared to me, she is the Lord's most satisfying trophy."
"As a body reconstructed by the Oken, her structure is sturdier than mine. Naturally, she is more favored and… used."
The implication was brutal.
"And Captain Sui Feng's case. That was Rosse too, wasn't it?"
Kyoraku inhaled deeply, forcing down nausea.
Sui Feng's death had been gruesome. His former vice-captain and Urahara had hinted at details.
It had always been a thorn in his heart.
If this had been a trap from the start, then he had pushed her into it.
Perhaps she had never betrayed Soul Society.
He had been guided, step by step, into condemning her. Forcing her toward Hueco Mundo and a tragic end.
"It was him."
Masaki nodded.
"And for the record, the 9th Espada was there too. Even with only half a soul, he could crush the current you like an ant."
"Haha! To be considered an ant worth crushing is quite the honor."
Kyoraku laughed, surprisingly carefree.
He did not mind the humiliation.
Knowing this meant the enemy was not flawless.
Rosse was not truly omniscient.
He had preferences. Weaknesses. Those who toy with hearts are eventually devoured by them.
Kyoraku might not survive today.
But even if he did not, these truths had to reach someone.
No matter what—
There were things he had to do.
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