Hiroki's grin turned peculiar. "That would be the man sitting in the First Division barracks… the Captain Commander, Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto!"
"The Captain Commander?" Aizen's brows drew together again. Captain Commander Yamamoto was unquestionably the embodiment of power, yet could he truly be the "exception"?
"Yes. The old man's strength is too pure, too extreme, too… boundless! The dreadful spiritual pressure slumbering inside him is virtually the personification of the law of destruction, the primordial will of universal incineration and annihilation." Hiroki's voice dropped, carrying the awe one reserves for natural catastrophes.
"Picture this," he sketched a terrifying scene. "If the old man didn't have that Zanpakuto—Ryujin Jakka—to gather, control, and restrain a power great enough to scorch the heavens and boil the seas, then merely by existing within Soul Society his unconsciously released life-field and spiritual fluctuations would warp space itself. The ambient heat and embers would reduce every nearby structure, every living thing, to ash without the slightest effort, turning all of Seireitei into a silent, dead wasteland—probably sooner rather than later."
"What?!" Even with mental preparation, Aizen was shaken to the core.
He knew the Captain Commander was strong, the very pillar of Soul Society. But to be such a calamity that his mere existence spelled disaster? It meant that titanic spiritual pressure, akin to a stellar core, was itself an apocalypse waiting to happen.
Ryujin Jakka was not merely an invincible weapon; it was the chain that kept him anchored to this world!
"Therefore," Hiroki concluded with the assurance of one who sees the essence, "for Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto, the Zanpakuto—Ryujin Jakna—is less a key to greater power (as it is for other Shinigami) than a vital sealing device, a powerful stabilizer. It suppresses the primordial force capable of ruining the world, keeping this human-shaped cataclysm in a controllable form so he can reside in fragile Seireitei and uphold Soul Society's order."
He smiled with a trace of irony. "One could even say that without the blade's restraint he would be confined forever to the Soul King Palace, a higher plane sturdy enough to endure his leaking pressure. A common Shinigami without Bankai's binding force would die from the Captain Commander's unconscious aura alone."
The revelation completely overturned Aizen's understanding.
A Zanpakuto had shifted from amplifier to shackle on a savage beast!
Captain Commander Yamamoto's terror now ascended, in Aizen's mind, to a new and more heart-shaking dimension.
For the first time he clearly grasped what apocalyptic storm lay sealed within that seemingly decrepit old body.
Hiroki tapped the table in a crisp rhythm. "Well, chew over those conjectures about the nature of Zanpakuto at your leisure—" The drawn-out note in his voice was playful, as though enjoying Aizen's mental whirlpool.
All of it was wild personal speculation.
Really want answers? Then be my guest—go to the Soul King Palace and ask Squad Zero to their faces, or confront Old Man Yama yourself.
"Yes, Lord Hiroki." Aizen's reply was calm, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses.
"Of course," Hiroki leaned back, relaxed yet cutting. "The Zero Squad only cares about the palace above. As for you?" He chuckled, dismissing Aizen like an insignificant ant. "To them your little stir is no storm at all. Most importantly—"
He lowered his voice, feigning reassurance. "They guard the Soul King Palace; unless heaven collapses they won't bother setting foot down here. No need to worry they'll tattle to Yamamoto." The room's oppressive air shifted with his words.
"Yes." Aizen's answer remained terse.
Hiroki suddenly leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Next, I'll tell you about a true madman who watches the whole of Soul Society."
"A madman?" Aizen frowned at the unexpected label.
"You should have heard of him," Hiroki flicked a finger as though unlocking dusty history. "The former Kenpachi of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads—Shusuke Muguruma."
"Shusuke Muguruma?" Aizen's frown deepened as memory raced. "I've read of him… sentenced by Central 46 to twenty thousand years in the Great Underground Prison for mass-slaughter experiments in Rukongai…"
"Exactly," Hiroki gave a cold, meaningful laugh. "Officially, he's still 'serving' in the deepest cell."
The quotation marks around "serving" bit hard with sarcasm.
"Yet his Zanpakuto, Urozuki, grants him a very… interesting ability." A spark flashed in Hiroki's eyes.
"He can disperse his own reishi and merge into everything around him—air, walls, earth, even Seireitei's reishi itself. His body rots in eternal darkness, but his consciousness and perception have silently seeped into every corner of Seireiteitei."
Hiroki slowed, each word a hammer on Aizen's heart. "Your carefully staged 'feats,' the whispers in labs—under his gaze they were performed in broad daylight, every detail seen, every sentence heard."
He had pierced the core of Muguruma's power: he exists in the reishi that permeates Seireitei.
"Of course—" Hiroki's tone suddenly shifted, tossing Aizen a supposed reassurance that only buried a deeper unknown, his voice even tinged with twisted admiration for the madman's ideals.
"That man is already lost in the grand 'dream' he wove for himself, obsessed with a single goal: to purge Soul Society and wipe Hollows from existence."
"!!!" A flicker of genuine shock crossed Aizen's eyes.
Hiroki continued in the hushed tone of forbidden history: "Unfortunately, when he tried to activate his power and launch his extermination plan, he sensed a higher will—the Soul King's will. Its consciousness told him 'no.' The madman was 'sensible' enough to surrender to Central 46 and walk into the Muken as a permanent guest."
He gave a soft snort. "So unless your grand design collides head-on with his core ideal of purifying the world, he won't bother rousing from his immersive 'savior dream' to expose you. He's an all-knowing yet silent, icy spectator."
"Soul King?" Aizen seized on the name.
"Mm." Hiroki's answer was ambiguous, a cryptic smile in his eyes. "Want details? When you actually storm the Soul King Palace, you'll understand."
"Understood." Aizen engraved the name into his heart.
"By the way—" Hiroki tapped the table as if recalling a trifle. "Just for amusement: those five lofty figures of Squad Zero, on their home ground in the Soul King Palace, can fight at a level that, conservatively, sits right at the threshold of First Class Spiritual Pressure."
"First Class?!" A crack finally split Aizen's composure; even he had never imagined Squad Zero's baseline matched the legendary tier of the Captain Commander.
Hiroki savored the tremor he'd caused, then dropped another bomb: "Oh, bonus gossip: the top Sternritter captains are, at a conservative guess, no weaker than those Squad Zero monsters."
He admired the fleeting blankness deep in Aizen's pupils. "Suddenly your supposedly sure-win board feels... crowded, doesn't it?"
Aizen drew a slow breath, a rare quiver in his voice: "Forgive me, Lord Hiroki. This intelligence... far exceeds my expectations." He had never factored such hidden strength into his vast scheme.
"Hey, focus!" Hiroki rapped the table like waking a daydreaming pupil. "I know what's on your mind." He grinned mockingly. "But don't pit Old Man Yama against them. That geezer's a monster! Among them only the babbling 'Eye Monk' Ichibē Hyōsube might last a few breaths amid Yamamoto's Ryujin Jakka inferno."
"As for 'First Class Spiritual Pressure'?"
Hiroki snorted. "That's just Soul Society's official ceiling—there's nothing higher than First Class."
"...!" Aizen's breath caught; the revelation shattered his scale of power.
"I still favor you." Hiroki's tone turned coaxing. "With your talent and ambition, given time... who knows? You might step over Old Man Yama and stand atop Soul Society." He dangled that heart-stopping future.
"Lord Hiroki!" Aizen's unshakable poise finally cracked under the barrage.
"Enough, enough." Hiroki waved airily, as if discussing the weather. "Future talk stays in the future. Let's return to the present—Shusuke Mōrimachi."
"Yes." Aizen regained his composure and answered respectfully.
"His strength?" Hiroki rubbed his chin like appraising a relic. "Even after all those years locked away, he shouldn't have fallen far... about equal to you right now." He paused deliberately. "Roughly the level of hurling Kido above number ninety without incantation."
"!!!" The casual remark struck like a hammer; Aizen knew too well how hard abandoning incantation for top Kido was.
"However," Hiroki added with icy amusement, "your Kyōka Suigetsu will be useless before him. His ability to merge with all things means your five-sense hypnosis won't work—he 'sees' via omnipresent reishi resonance, not senses your blade can fool."
He met Aizen's gaze and enunciated each word like an insignificant cleanup order: "If that dream-drunk 'purifier' ever finds you an eyesore and barges in to wreck your experiments..." Hiroki flicked a throat-slitting gesture, lips curling cruelly, "kill him."
"Understood." Aizen's voice was calm again, though the command was etched into his eyes.
"Of course, it's unlikely." Hiroki relaxed, as if the killing intent had been illusion. "He wants Hollows exterminated; you're merely using them as test subjects, even studying their power... As long as you don't wipe Hollows out entirely or shatter the balance the Soul King set..."
He spread his hands. "He'll probably stay in the audience, watching coldly."
He delivered that final, 'reassuring' verdict.
"Balance rules?" Aizen gave a slight nod.