"Ahahaha, just thinking about it is enough to give me a headache," Kyōraku Shunsui chuckled, his gaze lingering on the hazy aura before him.
Even in captivity, Aizen Sōsuke—now fused with the Hōgyoku—continued to generate uncontrollable spiritual pressure.
It was as if he were undergoing rigorous training every second of every day.
Whether it was Aizen's prodigious talent, the Hōgyoku's overwhelming enhancements, or both—it was hard to say.
From the rear of the group, Muguruma Kensei snorted derisively.
"All that pompous talk, but in the end, he's just another spiritual being. We just need to kill him, right?"
While blunt and headstrong, his suggestion wasn't exactly unrealistic.
After all, if they could weaken Aizen through precise restraints and careful strategy, execution wasn't off the table.
But the issue lay elsewhere.
"As adults, we should consider things rationally," Shunsui said.
"How to extract the greatest value from him—that's the real question we should be asking."
In other words, Aizen might still be of use.
"So, Captain Kurotsuchi, there's truly no way to extract the Hōgyoku?"
The Hōgyoku.
It was one of the reasons Aizen had ascended to such terrifying heights—and a product of technological research.
If it could fuse with a soul, shouldn't it also be removable?
Kurotsuchi Mayuri smirked, smug and dismissive.
"Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I can extract it. The only issue is time. I need to fully analyze his spiritual pressure first."
While pompous and arrogant, when it came to scientific matters, Mayuri exercised some restraint.
He extended his right hand and stared directly at Aizen.
"If you're patient, it's just a matter of time. And even if you're not, I can still repurpose the waste."
He chuckled darkly.
"Recycling trash is one of my favorite hobbies~"
Shunsui adjusted the brim of his hat, scanning the room.
"Anyone have objections?"
No one responded.
Aizen's condescending attitude, coupled with the scale of his betrayal, had already rendered reconciliation impossible.
Many captains simply closed their eyes, weary of the entire ordeal.
Finally, Shunsui glanced toward Yamamoto Genryūsai.
The old man sat in silence, saying nothing.
"Then I'll leave it to you all."
The Kidō Corps nodded and began strengthening the bindings.
The wrappings tightened like constricting serpents, causing Aizen's brow to furrow for the first time.
"Hmph..."
His spiritual pressure surged briefly, roiling and twisting like a wave before collapsing with a resounding pop.
Boom!
What remained of his pressure shattered.
The Kidō Corps surged forward, swiftly rewrapping him like a cocoon.
Despite the chaotic scuffle, no one laughed.
No one dared.
This was, after all, Aizen Sōsuke.
As the bindings constricted—mouth, eyes, everything sealed—Aizen managed to spit out one final, venom-laced remark:
"Fools, content in your cages! Keep dreaming... when the end comes, don't come crawling—"
But the rest was lost.
Three sets of hands sealed his mouth tight.
He was dragged back into the palanquin, motionless—his very existence silenced.
"Then we'll be taking our leave!" the Kidō Corps called, vanishing.
The Gotei captains stood in silence until Hirako Shinji finally muttered:
"Heh. For a guy like him to say something like that... shows he's frustrated."
No one lingered on Aizen's words. The sentence was sealed.
The outcome unchanged.
Shunsui turned back from the departing figures with a soft smile.
"Right, before we move to the next item... one more thing."
Now was the best time for such topics.
"Captain Hirako, can you still contact Yoruichi Shihōin or former Captain Kisuke Urahara?"
The Gotei 13 had attempted to reach out.
But Yoruichi and Urahara had vanished without a trace—no clues, no word.
A clear message.
They did not seek forgiveness.
Perhaps... they simply no longer wanted to return.
Kyōraku bowed deeply.
"Captain Hirako, on behalf of the Gotei 13... I ask not for forgiveness. But when the next great threat arises—"
"Please, ask them to fight alongside us again."
A pause.
Hirako sighed.
"Sorry. I really don't know where they are. But if I ever meet them again... I'll pass on your words."
That was enough.
Shunsui smiled and straightened.
"Well then, let's return to business."
With two breaths to reset the room's mood, his tone sharpened.
"This judgment comes at the cost of Yamamoto-sensei's resignation."
"And we still have one more man left to judge."
He clapped twice.
The gears turned.
The system moved.
"The one who deceived us."
"The one who destroyed the old Seireitei."
"The one who wounded Yamamoto."
"The one who reached for the power of the Soul King—and fell."
Thud!
The doors burst open.
Stealth Force officers marched in, dragging a frail figure between them.
He wore a white robe, barefoot, without a blade.
Pushed forward like a prisoner toward execution.
Stumbling, pale—
He stood at last.
The hood was removed.
Squinting into the light, the man mumbled:
"So bright..."
Kyōraku removed his hat, his voice soft yet cutting.
"Is that really all you have to say?"
The man's face—pale, gaunt, swollen from confinement—
Was unmistakable.
"Seiya Arima."
Once the mightiest warrior of Soul Society.
Once the one who defeated Yamamoto in open combat.
Now—
No Zanpakutō.
No spiritual pressure.
Just a fragile shell.
Stripped of power, reduced to a basic soul, surviving only through food and rest.
This… was shocking.
Compared to the dangerous Aizen—
This was just a broken man.
Pitiful.
Shunsui started to speak, but—
Clang!
Byakuya Kuchiki stepped forward.
His Zanpakutō drawn, blade to Seiya's throat.
His gaze—icy, furious.
"You're lying again, aren't you?"
"Just like last time."
"Toying with everyone. Causing pain for your own amusement."
The blade pressed in.
Slice.
Blood gushed from Seiya's neck.
Pain twisted his face—both physical and spiritual torment.
"Guh..."
Byakuya withdrew, turned away.
His eyes closed.
Expression flat.
"The blood of the wicked," he murmured.
"...is still a vivid red."
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Powerstones?
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