Chapter 185: Six Months and a Moment
Damn it, why did this happen.
Isshin's rage boiled so hot it nearly drowned out reason.
The compass in Ichigo's hand gleamed like a curse, its light reflecting off the living room walls, off the floor, off Isshin's own helplessness. He could feel it even now, that foreign pulse twisting through the air, threading itself into the world as if reality itself had been rewritten.
Isshin had no spiritual power left to speak of. What little strength he possessed was devoted to suppressing that particular Hollow. And that Hollow's power, the very thing he had been sealing all these years, now lived inside his son.
Which meant the truth was brutally simple.
If Ichigo could not use the Hollow power within him, Isshin's seal would never fully break.
Layer after layer rested inside Ichigo, seals upon seals, oceans beneath oceans. Break one, and you only discovered how deep the next one ran.
But Ichigo could not control Hollow power.
And Isshin could not wield spiritual power.
So what was he now.
An ordinary man with a doctor's hands, a father's fear, and nothing else.
Maybe he could lean on Kisuke's ridiculous gadgets, but even then, what could he do, really. Press a button and pray the universe behaved.
Aizen's appearance meant one thing above all.
The most dangerous schemer in Soul Society had started moving.
At first, Isshin thought Aizen was coming for him. The first thing the man spoke about was Ichigo, and it sounded like a threat wrapped in a smile.
And honestly, Ichigo's suspicion had been natural.
Ichigo was still weak, painfully so. If Aizen wanted leverage, the obvious move was to release the Hollow inside him, then use that power as a chain around a child's neck. Blackmail, coercion, control. That was how people like Aizen operated.
Except nothing stayed obvious.
It just kept unfolding, one layer after another, refusing to stop.
Kisuke appeared, but did not attack.
The two of them exchanged words Isshin could barely follow, and then Kisuke stared at the compass like a starving man staring at food, eyes glazed, posture wrong, mind slipping.
If Yoruichi had not arrived with that group of people, the ones Kisuke called the Visoreds, Kisuke might have been swallowed whole by Aizen's logic.
Isshin understood what persuasion looked like.
He had been on both sides of it more times than he wanted to count.
Whatever Aizen was doing, Isshin could not allow him to take Kisuke. Kisuke was their anchor, their toolmaker, their only bridge to anything resembling a plan.
And then Isshin came home.
Heavy heart, tight chest, mind already burning.
Only to find his son suddenly, quietly rebellious.
Isshin had thought it was a normal problem.
A mood. A phase.
Then he realized the problem was enormous.
Ichigo was talking about the balance of the Three Realms, about what could and could not be tolerated, about whether the cycle itself was wrong. Like a knife had been placed into his hand and he was asking why blood had to spill.
How could Isshin accept that.
If there was anyone who would die first to prevent it, it would be him. He would die before Ichigo was sent up there, before his son became another sacrifice in Soul Society's machine.
Of course, Isshin was not a fool. He knew that if the world truly reached a breaking point, sacrifices would be demanded. That was how the Three Realms worked.
But he refused to let his son be the first payment.
He could not understand how Aizen had done it.
How a few words, a few truths, could tilt a child's heart so easily.
Then Ichigo pulled out that compass.
Isshin recognized it immediately.
And before he could move, the light struck.
Power pressed him into the corner like a hand on his throat. His body locked, his voice swallowed. The compass's glow surged and waved, and Isshin felt something even more terrifying.
His power.
Reviving.
Not fully, not cleanly, but unmistakably, like embers catching flame.
His son, a boy who had not even achieved Shikai, was unlocking seals tied to Hollow power. Breaking them. Peeling them away.
And because those seals were breaking, Isshin's own power returned, one strand at a time.
The foreign force still pinned him down, still denied him the chance to rush forward, but the recovering spiritual pressure gave him leverage. Breath by breath, he forced himself upright, then took one step, then another, dragging himself toward the compass like a man climbing out of a grave.
That thing was given by Aizen.
Get rid of it. Then kill Aizen.
That was the only thought that mattered.
It had been a long time since Isshin used Shinigami power in real combat, but he knew this much.
If he had not been ambushed back then, the outcome between him and Aizen would never have been guaranteed.
Isshin was not weak.
He did not rely only on his Zanpakuto. His Kido was sharp. His control was strong. His instincts were captain level, carved by blood and war.
With a flick of his finger, an invisible barrier snapped into place, sealing the living room. Sound and vibration vanished, locked away as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Burn, Yanyue."
A burning blade appeared in Isshin's palm, silent and fierce. Flames crawled along the steel, growing hotter as his spiritual power returned, as his pressure surged back into his limbs.
He glared past Ichigo.
At the man behind him.
Aizen stood there smiling, calm as ever, like the heat meant nothing.
Aizen was influencing his son with some unknown technique, some twisted method. But he had made a mistake.
He had also revived Isshin.
Isshin steadied himself, feet firm, sword bright with fire. In less than a minute he was standing before them, Shinigami robes clinging to his frame like a remembered truth. His Zanpakuto, Satsuki, lifted high.
The flames at its tip surged.
Then he slashed down.
Straight at Aizen's head.
But just before the blade could reach its target, Ichigo moved.
A subtle shift of the wrist. A single step.
The compass came into Ichigo's palm and his body slid into the path of the strike.
The killing blow became impossible.
Isshin's sword stopped, trembling with restraint and fury. He stared at his son, who stood with his head bowed, calm in a way that felt wrong, dangerous, unfamiliar.
"Ichigo. Move."
Isshin's voice was low, strained.
"Get out of the way. Otherwise I can't kill him."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dad."
Ichigo lifted his head.
His long orange hair flowed in the night air, and for some reason he looked taller, older, like time had been stretched around him and forced to obey. His expression was calm, almost indifferent.
"Aizen helped me. He taught me a lot. We still have things to finish, so I won't let you do anything right now. Even if it means fighting, I want you to postpone it."
Isshin's heart felt like it was tearing.
What could have happened in such a short time to turn Ichigo into this.
Calm. Tough. Independent.
Everything Isshin had hoped his son would become, now aimed at stopping him.
The world truly had a cruel sense of humor.
There was only one explanation that made sense to Isshin's mind.
Kyoka Suigetsu.
That demonic, infectious influence. Kisuke had confirmed it, Yoruichi had confirmed it, Isshin had lived through it. If they wanted Ichigo back, the only path left was to defeat Aizen, then drag Ichigo to Kisuke and tear the hypnosis out of his brain by force.
But Aizen did not look interested in their family tragedy.
He did not even look bothered.
"Well then," Aizen said calmly, as if they were discussing weather. "Don't forget what we talked about, Ichigo. I'll be leaving now. There is still much to do in this world."
Ichigo gave a small nod. "Go ahead, Aizen."
Isshin watched, wounded and furious, as Aizen nodded once, almost politely.
Then Aizen vanished.
No ripple. No sound. No sensation.
The barrier remained sealed, yet Aizen was gone as if he had never existed. As if reality itself refused to acknowledge him.
Ichigo stood in the living room, compass gleaming in his hand. He looked at Isshin's Shinigami robes and the burning sword, and a faint smile tugged at his lips, as if Isshin's anger was something he understood, something he could even find amusing.
"Zanpakuto, Satsuki," Ichigo murmured. "So Shikai and Bankai really are real. And, Dad, you really are strong."
"Ichigo," Isshin said, forcing the words out through pain. "No matter what you heard, don't believe Aizen."
He hated how helpless he sounded.
He hated that he could not say the truth in a way that would not shatter his son further.
He had tried to protect them. He had tried to preserve this home. Masaki had lived here. So had he. He wanted Ichigo to have a life that was not soaked in Soul Society's rotten logic.
But that protection, in Ichigo's eyes, had become deception.
And Isshin could not even deny it.
"I know you can tell right from wrong," Isshin continued, voice tight. "But that man is different. He's a born fraud. A natural liar. Don't believe him. Please."
"If you think I was hypnotized," Ichigo said, "or brainwashed, and that's why I'm like this, then I can tell you, that's not it."
His appearance shifted as he spoke.
As if years passed in a heartbeat.
That long hair, that older frame, it all looked suddenly wrong, like it did not belong. Ichigo frowned slightly, sensing his body, then mobilized the power inside him.
Under Isshin's stunned gaze, Ichigo shrank.
The long hair fell away, silently dropping to the floor. His body compressed back into its original size, his familiar spiky hair returning as if time itself rewound.
Only one thing remained.
A sharply defined mark on his forehead.
And then three dark spheres rose behind him, soundless, heavy with menace. Even looking at them made Isshin's instincts scream. If those things touched you, you did not come back.
Ichigo pointed at the mark on his forehead, patient, almost matter of fact.
"This is one way chakra can be used. It lets me adjust my physical age to any point in time I want."
Isshin's throat went dry. "What kind of power is that."
"Chakra," Ichigo said. "This is what Aizen taught me, a power that can truly change the world."
He stood still, the three spheres floating behind him like silent judges. He did not rush. He did not threaten. He simply watched his father, letting the shock land.
"The spheres are tools created through understanding all seven types of chakra. Right now I can only refine three, that's my limit. Each one has enough power to destroy a mountain."
Ichigo's eyes were calm.
"I don't know exactly how strong Bankai truly is. But compared to who I was, I am already tens of thousands of times stronger. I'm not hypnotized. I'm forging myself. Training myself. Deciding my life with my own will."
His voice softened.
"Now I can protect our family, Dad. With my own strength. I can protect the people I want to protect."
Isshin's lips parted, but no words came.
Then the room shifted again.
Spiritual particles in the air began to stir, reacting to Isshin's pressure, reacting to the sword, reacting to fear.
Ichigo noticed.
His smile turned faintly amused.
One of the spheres behind him dissolved into the air. Blackness spread like ink, covering the room in an instant. The resonating spiritual particles were smothered, blocked, silenced.
Chakra from another world merged into the fluctuations of spirit particles as if they were the same language, merely spoken with different accents.
As long as Ichigo wanted it, he could do this.
Isshin's expression tightened, stiff and bleak.
Ichigo's smile became playful.
"Now, Dad," he said, "you know what it feels like to be kept in the dark, right?"
Isshin blinked. "What."
"And you probably think Aizen has me on a leash," Ichigo continued, voice light, almost teasing. "That I have to help him, and sooner or later you and I will have a showdown, right?"
Isshin looked away, embarrassed despite himself.
Because yes.
That was exactly what he thought.
But watching Ichigo now, watching the boy's expression, the relaxed posture, the lack of malice, Isshin's instincts trembled with doubt.
Ichigo did not seem like someone being dragged by strings.
He seemed like someone who had cut the strings and was enjoying the sound.
It felt like revenge, not cruel, not bloody, but intimate. A child returning the same helplessness he had once been forced to swallow.
Ichigo shrugged.
"But the truth is, Aizen didn't ask me to do anything," he said. "He just gave me this power. That's all."
Isshin stared, stunned. "Why. What does he want."
"Maybe," Ichigo said, and his gaze turned distant for a moment, "because there are people who need this power to protect their families."
He looked back at Isshin with a sincere smile.
"Whether Aizen is a bad person or not, I'll judge that myself. But I don't want to repeat this cycle of killing and being killed anymore. This world is too painful for me to accept. I wasn't raised for this."
Isshin's jaw tightened. "But the balance of the Three Realms is essential. You know that."
"That's why we choose another path," Ichigo said.
His smile was gentle now, but there was steel under it.
"I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to stand on anyone's head. If this cycle is destined to demand blood, then I don't want to keep cycling through it. If the world the Spirit King created is destined to be like this, then I believe Aizen is bringing the change the Spirit King needed."
Isshin frowned, lost. "What are you talking about."
"It's nothing," Ichigo said, waving a hand as if brushing away dust. "I'll probably be going out more often at night from now on."
He turned, broke the barrier as if it were paper, opened the door, and stepped outside.
"Hey," Isshin snapped, anger and fear surging again. "Ichigo. Where are you going."
Ichigo did not look back.
"To do what I need to do," he said. "Don't save me dinner, Dad."
"Ichigo."
But his son was already gone.
Disappearing in an instant, leaving behind a living room that felt too small, too quiet, too ordinary for what had just happened inside it.
Isshin stood there, flames on his sword dimming, the weight of reality settling like ash.
Ichigo had not attacked him.
He had not openly rebelled.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because it meant his son had matured under someone else's hand, someone Isshin considered an enemy, and Isshin could not deny the results.
He sank onto the sofa, exhausted in a way no battle had ever caused.
"You'd better explain yourself properly after this," he muttered, voice hoarse.
His eyes drifted to the photo of Masaki on the wall.
Isshin let out a long sigh, lay back, and closed his eyes, feeling, for the first time, the full weight of raising a child who could no longer be protected by ignorance.
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