"Where is Aizen?!"
"Fight with me!!"
The boy's roar split the sky and earth, echoing like thunder through the battlefield, but no one answered. Every gaze was fixed on the vast cloud of dust hanging over the shattered ground. The air was tense, thick with uncertainty. Since the moment Aizen's arm smashed into the earth, the rising smoke had swallowed all sight, leaving only the anxious pounding of countless hearts.
No one knew what had happened inside that haze. Though it had seemed moments ago that the boy had suppressed Aizen completely, no one could be sure. They needed to see it with their own eyes—to watch him defeat Aizen, to witness the young Captain's triumph firsthand. Only then could they believe it, only then could they truly feel at ease.
As for the orange-haired boy nearby—no one spared him a glance.
"What's with these guys…" Kurosaki Ichigo muttered, looking at the strangely silent ranks of Shinigami. Then a grin spread across his face. "Wait, don't tell me you're all stunned by my good looks?!" He threw back his head, laughing. "Hah, I knew it!"
Before he could finish basking in his own brilliance, two sharp gusts cut through the air.
Bang! Bang!
Twin impacts landed squarely on the back of his head.
"Move, idiot!"
Rukia and Renji's voices overlapped as Ichigo staggered forward and crashed face-first to the ground, two fresh lumps already swelling on his head.
"What the hell are you two—?!" he began, but before he could finish, Rukia and Renji vaulted down, using him as a literal stepping stone. Their boots landed squarely on his back without hesitation or apology.
"Seriously?! You're using me as a step?!" he spluttered, but the two didn't even glance down.
"P-please, Kurosaki-san… it's okay…" Orihime's gentle hands pulled him up, worry softening her voice.
Ichigo's face darkened, his hair bristling. "You guys—!"
"Shut up," Rukia and Renji snapped together.
Ichigo's temper flared; he was ready to explode at their nerve—but the words died in his throat as his eyes caught movement through the thinning dust. The haze that had concealed everything began to drift away, and from within it, two figures slowly emerged.
"That is—!"
Shock rippled through the ranks.
They weren't truly two figures. One was Aizen—transformed into something monstrous. His Reiatsu, now several times more dreadful than before, rolled outward like a storm. The other figure, standing opposite him, was a white-haired youth.
"That's… Captain Su Li?!" Renji's voice cracked with disbelief.
"Captain Su Li… how did he…" Rukia whispered. "How did he become like this?"
Her eyes widened. The boy before her was nothing like the one she remembered. Were it not for the twelfth-division haori draped across his shoulders, she might not have recognized him at all.
"Su Li-san's white hair… it looks even better than before," Orihime murmured, half to herself. It wasn't idle admiration—merely an honest observation. The transformation had refined his bearing; the calmness around him felt different, deeper. In her eyes, there was only one word to describe it: handsome.
Under the collective gaze of the assembled Shinigami, Su Li stood quietly before Aizen, his expression unreadable. His eyes lingered on Aizen's arm—his fingers still poised from the earlier strike. Yet, despite the force behind that blow, the evolved Aizen bore no visible damage beyond a shallow mark. His new body, hardened by the Hōgyoku's fusion, had become far more resilient.
A glint of recognition crossed Su Li's eyes. He touched his chin, nodding slightly, his lips curving in a faint, almost approving smile—the look of a teacher watching a once-defiant student return stronger than before. From Su Li's perspective, he had cultivated mastery of true Jizi technique but had rarely needed to test it. Aizen, in his newly evolved state, was the perfect subject.
Aizen's expression twisted. That serene, appraising gaze ignited humiliation deep in his chest. He, who had ascended beyond all life, had been struck down by a mere boy—and now that same boy looked at him as though examining a training dummy. Rage boiled in Aizen's veins.
Where is this boy's limit?
Yet, amid his fury, cold reason whispered that Su Li's physical strength would eventually wane. Aizen, wholly merged with the Hōgyoku, was inexhaustible. When the boy's stamina ran dry, victory would be his. Confidence returned to his face; his tone was once again steeped in arrogance.
"Hmph… let's see how long you can last," he growled.
The ground shuddered as his clawed arm tore free from the mud, black energy gathering around him before striking forward like a storm.
Su Li's eyes remained calm, his posture unbroken. As the shadow surged toward him, he lifted one hand—just a single finger—and moved with unhurried grace.
The motion was slow, deliberate, yet impossibly precise. His fingertip brushed Aizen's wrist, and with a light flick, redirected the force entirely. The black claws veered aside, slicing a semicircular arc before plunging into the ground at another angle. Aizen's balance collapsed; momentum sent him spinning helplessly through the air.
Gasps erupted across the field.
"What was that move?!"
Soi-Fon's eyes shone with awe, her voice trembling. Yoruichi's heart hammered in her chest; even Yamamoto's aged fingers clenched tightly around his beard, his eyes gleaming with the brilliance of understanding.
They saw it clearly. That single motion contained perfect martial harmony—soft overcoming hard, weakness defying strength. The ancient maxim of Hakuda, spoken by every student and mastered by almost none, had manifested in its truest form.
To turn Aizen's power against him—with one finger—was beyond technique. It was enlightenment.
Su Li lowered his hand, calm as still water. The motion embodied the essence of "four taels moving a thousand catties," the art of infinite leverage within effortless precision.
Aizen reeled, unable to halt his fall. His back lay exposed, wide open before the boy. The air grew thick with anticipation.
This is it!
"Kick him! Kick him! Kick him!" Omaeda whispered, almost praying aloud. No one could blame him—Aizen's back was a target too tempting to ignore. Every pair of eyes on the battlefield willed Su Li to strike.
But instead of attacking, the boy simply reached out and tapped Aizen's back, thoughtful, almost curious.
"Seriously?!"
"Don't tell me he's letting him go!"
"Has he lost his mind?!"
Kyoraku Shunsui groaned, throwing up his hat. The others muttered in collective disbelief. To waste such an opening felt criminal.
"Hah! Foolish boy!" Aizen sneered, steadying himself. "If you don't seize the moment, you'll never get another chance!"
He lunged forward again, black energy flooding the air as claws and tendrils of darkness erupted like a living storm.
Su Li lowered his gaze, silent, his expression unreadable. Even as Aizen's onslaught swallowed the sky, the boy seemed lost in quiet thought.
Aizen laughed wildly, his attacks crashing down in waves. But amid that chaos, Su Li's hand rose once more—only a single finger. The motion was still slow, impossibly so. Yet in that endless tide of blackness, the finger never wavered.
It stood like a solitary mast against the ocean.
The longer Aizen attacked, the heavier his heart grew. The boy's movements were languid, almost negligent, and yet every strike he threw met with perfect deflection. Whenever Aizen thought he found a flaw, Su Li's body would already be there, fingers tracing the precise point to nullify it.
To counter blows of such ferocity with motions so tranquil—what kind of perception did it require? What state of mind?
Aizen didn't know. But unease began to creep through him, cold and unshakable.
Why had the boy touched his back earlier? Why wouldn't he look at him now?
Each slow movement carried an effortless rhythm, as fluid as drifting clouds and flowing water. It wasn't hesitation—it was peace.
Flowing clouds, flowing water…
Aizen's pupils constricted. "This feeling… is this what they call Ultra Instinct?" he muttered, half-incredulous.
Before the thought could settle, the boy's finger flicked once more—this time faster than sight.
Shua!
Aizen's right shoulder exploded in blood, severed cleanly at the root.
He froze, staring in disbelief. Weren't you moving in slow motion?!
Su Li finally lifted his eyes. A faint smile touched his lips, calm and unspoken. His gaze alone conveyed the truth.
True freedom of movement is not bound by rhythm.
To move slow when one wishes, to strike fast when one wills—
That is the essence of being at ease.
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