Chapter 105 - CHAPTER 105:Death of Aizen!

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Night had already fallen across the Seireitei, bringing with it a deep and widening sense of disorder that gripped the streets like wildfire. The divisions surged from their barracks in coordinated waves, flooding every avenue and side path in pursuit of any lingering trace of the intruding travelers. Across rooftops and alleys, orders flew like blades themselves—shouted commands pierced the thick air, while steel met steel in sudden clashes where patrols mistook flickers of shadow for hidden fugitives.

Above the chaos, settled with strange calm on a quiet rooftop, Su Li reclined with a casual ease, one leg swinging over the eaves, her half-lidded eyes quietly drinking in the scene unraveling below. Despite the rising storm in the streets, she looked detached—unmoved—as though none of it truly concerned her. It was spreading fast now, like fire on dry paper, but Su Li remained a silent spectator, unmoved and unbothered by the unrest.

By this point in the night, Ichigo Kurosaki and the others had almost certainly begun their confrontations, already standing face to face with captains, vice-captains, and whatever other resistance had risen to meet them. The true drama, however—the performance that would redefine everything—had not yet begun. That act was reserved for one man alone: Aizen Sōsuke.

"One-two-three-eight," Su Li whispered lightly, the words tumbling from her lips and blending into the wind, which tugged gently at her sleeves and scattered the sound before it could fully form. Her mouth curved slightly in what could have been a smile, though its meaning remained unreadable.

Though the night crackled with tension and anticipation, for Soul Society, such chaos—strange as it might appear—felt strangely familiar, almost expected, as if the realm itself thrived on a rhythm of upheaval and shadowed revelation.

As darkness began to give way to the dim tremors of early morning, the Gobantai barracks settled into an eerie quiet, burdened by something deeper than silence. The patrol, previously led by Captain Aizen and his Vice-Captain Hinamori, had concluded quickly and without conflict, no traces of the travelers found within their assigned sector. Control of the area had since been delegated to the remaining night shift.

Inside Aizen's private quarters, Hinamori Momo lay resting on a futon, her small frame curled tightly in sleep, her breath calm and slow. She had come that night seeking comfort, weighed down by uncertainties she hadn't yet put into words, but drowsiness had overtaken her before she could speak. In that still chamber, only one sound remained: the soft, measured brushstrokes of a pen.

Aizen Sōsuke sat at his desk, hunched slightly over the parchment before him, the lamplight casting long shadows as his hand moved with deliberate care. Each stroke was fluid, controlled—evidence of a man writing not merely words, but intention. The scratching of ink was subtle yet unbroken.

However, Aizen was not alone in that room.

Standing a few paces behind him was Ichimaru Gin, tall and lean, with that familiar foxlike grin etched permanently into his face. His eyes, slits of mischief and calculation, gleamed faintly as he watched the brush dance. With a slight lean forward, he examined the letters forming beneath Aizen's hand, expression twitching at the growing name.

"Captain Aizen," Gin murmured, his tone more amused than questioning, "you're shifting things again, aren't you?"

Without glancing back or breaking rhythm, Aizen replied with the same measured calm that defined him. "Don't you think he's a better fit for the role, Silver?"

Gin's smirk deepened, sharp as a blade edge. He tilted his head, his eyes lingering on the paper.

"Didn't see it at first," he answered slowly, voice light and oddly thoughtful, "but now... yeah, now he might be the one who fits better than anyone else."

Pausing for just a heartbeat, Gin's tone dipped, laced with quiet curiosity. "Still... I can't quite understand why he let the traveler go when the moment came."

But the answer didn't matter, not really, because every eye had already begun to drift toward him. Suspicion was gathering like clouds.

A soft chuckle escaped Gin's throat, playful and without weight.

Aizen, finishing the final stroke of his calligraphy, allowed his gaze to rest on the name he had just written, a subtle expression flickering across his lips—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Su Li.

At that same time, within the Second Division barracks, Sui-Feng paced the hallway with slow, deliberate steps, her motion restless and her expression troubled. Each stride echoed faintly, as though the corridor itself had grown anxious. Just nearby, her lieutenant Omaeda lay sprawled across a stairwell, dozing noisily in a posture that resembled something between collapse and abandonment.

The outcome of the captains' meeting had already reached Sui-Feng's ears. What baffled her was Su Li's behavior—his silence. When she and Su Li had first arrived at the scene, the traveler had been alive, but barely. All indicators—spiritual residue, the subtle pull of blame—had seemed to implicate Ichimaru Gin more than anyone.

Yet Su Li had taken the burden on himself, saying nothing in his own defense.

Then, without warning, he had disappeared.

Rumors began to spread before the sun had fully risen. Some whispered he had encountered the traveler again. Others claimed he had let them escape once more. In either case, suspicion had thickened like fog, and if it settled into certainty, Su Li might become the first to be captured, even before the travelers themselves.

Sui-Feng's thoughts churned, spiraling through possibilities.

Her voice dropped into a barely audible mutter as she turned another restless lap. "Ah Li... where have you gone...?"

The hours stretched thin.

Sleep remained distant.

Eventually, as the sun breached the horizon and spilled its amber glow across tiled rooftops, Gobantai began to stir once more.

Within the captain's room, Hinamori Momo shifted beneath the rising light. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly to clear the film of sleep. As her surroundings registered—her captain's quarters, the futon—her face colored in a rush of embarrassment.

"I—I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, scrambling upright. "I didn't mean to fall asleep like this, Captain Aizen!"

Looking around in haste, her breath caught.

The space was still, unnaturally so.

There was no reply.

Captain Aizen was gone.

Her eyes flicked to the doorway and found it standing open, letting in the light.

"Captain Aizen...?"

The morning sun stretched further across the tatami floor, touching her face with its soft heat—an ordinary thing that suddenly felt surreal.

Then realization hit like a hammer.

She was late.

The morning assembly had already begun.

Panic overtook her as she bolted from the room. She raced to her own quarters, hastily changed, and charged through the courtyard, muttering as she ran.

"Why didn't Captain Aizen wake me up...?" she wondered aloud, breath catching as she turned the last corner.

And then she saw it.

The image before her broke the world apart in a single instant.

Her feet stopped. Her knees nearly gave out.

Everything froze.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her hands trembled, air caught in her throat and refusing to move.

Mounted high on the wall before her, lifeless and impaled, was Aizen Sōsuke.

Blood streamed down the wall in thick ribbons, soaking the stone beneath him. A Zanpakutō jutted from his chest, having pierced straight through his body. His glasses sat cracked upon his nose. His eyes, glassy and open, reflected nothing.

With a voice unrecognizable even to herself, Hinamori choked out a whisper. "No... no, this isn't real... Captain... Aizen...?"

Then came the scream.

Raw and jagged, it split the early morning calm like lightning tearing through sky—anguished, broken, endless.

Within seconds, Matsumoto Rangiku and a team of patrol members burst onto the scene, drawn by the shriek.

Not one of them noticed the presence just beyond the wall.

Standing quietly, untouched by blood or consequence, Aizen Sōsuke watched.

Alive. Smiling faintly. Content.

His eyes never left Hinamori.

"You did well, Hinamori," he murmured, as if speaking only to the wind. "You've fulfilled your role better than I could have hoped."

"And now... the final act can begin."

Back in the Second Division, Sui-Feng remained seated on the corridor steps, her gaze fixed outward, the golden dawn reflected in the narrowed slits of her eyes. Her form slouched forward slightly, hair unkempt, limbs lax—not out of relaxation, but from sheer, sleepless stillness.

Suddenly, loud footfalls approached, heavy and uneven. A figure rounded the corridor in full sprint—panting, hair disheveled, fear written clearly on every feature.

It was Omaeda.

He stumbled to a stop in front of her, nearly collapsing, chest heaving with the effort of his run and the weight of his message.

"Captain Sui-Feng!" he gasped. "Something terrible has happened!"

Her body snapped upright like a drawn bowstring. "You found him?!" she asked sharply.

But Omaeda only shook his head, voice cracking with urgency. "No—it's not that!"

Her frown deepened, cold and cutting. "Then what?"

With two more desperate breaths, he forced out the words.

"A report just came in from the Ritin team... They say Captain Aizen is dead!"

The words slammed into her like ice.

Omaeda pressed on, voice stumbling. "They said he was killed in his sleep—stabbed straight through the chest with a Zanpakutō... and his heart was completely destroyed..."

"This wasn't an accident... it was murder."

"They haven't identified the killer yet... but Captain-Commander Yamamoto and Hitsugaya's unit have declared a first-class security alert."

"They say the intel's confirmed... there's no doubt left..."

His voice trembled, the shock refusing to leave him.

Sui-Feng stood in absolute stillness, her eyes dark with purpose.

"You're staying here. Guard the precinct," she ordered with an edge that cut deeper than steel.

"I'll go verify this myself."

Omaeda nodded stiffly, stunned into obedience. "Yes—understood, Captain!"

Before he could blink again, she had vanished, leaving behind only a whisper of wind and a gathering storm.

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