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A quiet trail stretched beneath Su Li's feet as he walked leisurely, his thoughts still lingering on the encounter within the Confession Palace. The tension in Aizen's voice, subtle yet undeniable, confirmed what Su Li already suspected—his recent moves had triggered suspicion.
He had pushed too far, perhaps a little prematurely, but it was of little consequence. A few more days might've been ideal, yet the overall rhythm remained unbroken. With the strength he now wielded, no matter how wildly Aizen danced, the final outcome could not be altered. Su Li's presence didn't disrupt the performance—it merely added color, made the grand production livelier, more unpredictable.
If Aizen fancied himself the director of this great play, Su Li was happy to act his part. But the director would soon find that the script had changed, the climax rewritten, and the ending no longer belonged to him. When that moment came, would Aizen shout cut, demand another take, refuse the outcome?
Too bad. There would be no reshoots. No NGs.
This scene was one take only.
The thought made Su Li grin, his body light, his spirit refreshed. There was an unspeakable joy in playing both cast and saboteur, in walking the line between stagehand and storm.
As he approached Section 127, the path ahead shimmered with familiarity. Two figures came into view—one of them waving enthusiastically.
"Yo ho! Captain Su Li!"
Blonde waves caught the light as Matsumoto Rangiku's unmistakable voice rang out, cheerful as ever.
"It's been so long since we last drank together at the tavern!" she beamed, waving as if she hadn't just seen him a few decades ago.
Su Li returned her smile with a polite nod, then shifted his gaze toward the Shinigami standing silently beside her. The word "short" didn't seem quite right. The figure was a boy—white-haired, sharp-eyed, and carved with the kind of premature coldness only prodigies wore.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō.
The current captain of the Tenth Division, promoted at an unprecedented pace after the disappearance of the former captain, Shiba Isshin—an incident whose full truth, aside from Aizen and a scarce few, was known only to Su Li.
Su Li studied the boy, unable to hide a trace of amusement.
"So, you're the 'Captain Salted Fish' everyone keeps talking about?" Hitsugaya asked coldly, his tone like an icicle pressed against bare skin.
Although Su Li had long resumed his post, the nickname born from his years of inactivity hadn't fully vanished. Yet the hostility in the boy's voice carried something deeper than gossip—almost personal.
He didn't need to guess why.
With a sharp smack to the back of Hitsugaya's head, Matsumoto interrupted. "Ah! Ow, ow, ow!"
Tōshirō winced, rubbing the spot as he spun toward her with fury in his eyes.
"What was that for?!"
Matsumoto raised a finger and shook it lightly, her voice teasing but firm. "Tōshirō, don't be rude to Captain Su Li. He's the youngest and most powerful captain in Soul Society history."
Hitsugaya's eyes sparked. "You say that every day! I'm the youngest and strongest captain now!"
His declaration thundered with pride, but Matsumoto only made a face and dismissed him with a grin. The tension between them crackled with unspoken familiarity, an endless loop of rivalry and rebellion.
Watching them, Su Li laughed inwardly. It wasn't hard to see through the source of the friction. When Su Li had risen to captaincy, Tōshirō had barely been an officer—too young to witness Su Li's true power with his own eyes. Now, a prodigy himself, he likely resented the shadow of a legend he'd never seen.
But in their loud banter and mismatched height, Su Li saw two of the most honest souls among the Gotei 13's ranks. Simple, proud, untarnished by schemes or masks.
Tōshirō, however, wasn't finished.
His expression hardened as he turned back toward Su Li, gaze sharp with challenge.
"I want that title back."
The boy looked up with a defiant tilt of the chin, as though trying to gaze down despite the difference in height. Su Li raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
"Well then—"
He raised his hand slowly, and in that instant, Tōshirō's pupils contracted.
With a metallic hiss, his Zanpakutō was unsheathed in one fluid motion.
"Sit upon the frosty sky—Hyōrinmaru!"
The temperature plummeted. Ice crystals danced in the air like silver feathers, condensing from the moisture of Tōshirō's spiritual pressure.
"Wait! Tōshirō!!"
Matsumoto's voice rang out, eyes widening in panic, but it was already too late.
The blade of Hyōrinmaru cut through the air with ruthless precision, aimed directly at Su Li's raised arm.
There was a burst of light and sound as ice surged across the path.
A chunk of crystal froze in place, encasing Su Li mid-motion.
Gasps erupted from the surrounding crowd. Several passersby had stopped to watch, and now stood paralyzed, expressions locked in disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing, Tōshirō?!" Matsumoto shouted, face pale with worry.
But before Hitsugaya could offer any reply, a sound echoed behind him.
Smack.
A palm came down atop his head.
Tōshirō's entire body stiffened.
Matsumoto's breath caught in her throat as her gaze snapped to the frozen figure—and then to the palm now resting on the boy's head.
The air fell into silence.
"Keep your word," a voice said quietly.
Tōshirō turned his head with effort, as if his neck had turned to stone.
Behind him stood Su Li, smiling gently, eyes clear.
The figure frozen before them dissolved into shimmering vapor—it had only ever been an afterimage.
The real Su Li stood behind him now, hand atop the boy's head, perfectly composed.
Tōshirō didn't dare move. A single thought screamed through his mind—if this man had used a blade instead of a palm, his head would already be rolling on the snow-laced floor.
The silence thickened.
Su Li tilted his head slightly, his tone suddenly playful.
"Tsk, tsk. When I used to watch anime, I always thought this white hair was adorable…"
His fingers ran casually through the boy's icy strands.
"Feels so nice. Children are so soft. Not greasy at all."
The sight was surreal.
A powerful captain, treated like a household pet. Passersby could only gape, caught between awe and disbelief. The difference between this former genius and the new generation was too large. There was no duel. No clash of equals. Just one-sided suppression.
And this—this was what they had been mocking as Captain Salted Fish?
Even the most skeptical rookies felt their hearts tremble.
One move. Just one.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō—subdued without resistance.
The man petting his head hadn't even drawn his Zanpakutō.
Tōshirō's mouth twitched violently, hand trembling where it clutched his blade. Since attaining captaincy, he had never suffered such a humiliating display.
"Have you touched enough yet?!" he growled, voice cracking under the pressure of frustration and shame.
Smack!
Before he could finish, Su Li's hand struck the side of his neck with surgical precision.
Tōshirō's eyes rolled back as darkness engulfed him.
The icy air faded. Snowflakes began to melt.
Silence returned.
Su Li turned, catching the unconscious boy before he hit the ground. With a single arm, he lifted him effortlessly and held him out to Matsumoto.
"This kid has talent, but the rebellious streak in him needs trimming. Take him back and fix it."
Matsumoto accepted Tōshirō wordlessly, still dazed.
Su Li offered her a small smile.
"Let's go, Miss Rangiku."
She nodded automatically, brain still processing what had happened as he walked off, his footsteps vanishing down the trail.
Behind them, murmurs resumed like ripples after a stone's throw. Everyone stared at the half-melted ground, their faces taut with complicated emotions.
Matsumoto glanced at the unconscious Tōshirō in her arms and sighed.
"…I told you not to provoke him."
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