Seireitei, Soul Society…
To Aizen, it was nothing but a dull spectacle.
It was as if a lion had been caged within an anthill.
The ants scurried about, mindlessly following orders handed down from above, executing task after task to maintain their mound. Their vision was confined to the dirt beneath their feet, incapable of looking beyond.
For Aizen, who looked down upon it all, this was an existence of disconnection… and solitude.
Even as the Vice-captain of the Fifth Division, he was acutely aware of the insurmountable gap between himself and the so-called Captain-level Shinigami.
To slaughter an ordinary Captain-level Shinigami would be a trivial matter—whether it took one swing or two was the only question.
Of course, there were exceptions among the Captains. Yet, to Aizen, they were equally dull.
Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni, a relic shackled by the very Soul Society he once led.
Unohana Retsu, a Shinigami suppressing her true nature, bound by rules she no longer defied.
Zaraki Kenpachi, a beast who self-sealed his strength for the thrill of combat—entirely unworthy of conversation.
Ukitake Jushiro, initially quite interesting, revealed himself to be little more than a vessel for a fragment of the Soul King. A pitiful, arrogant man, devoid of his own will.
Years ago, Aizen learned of the existence of the Royal Guard, the Zero Division, after the sudden disappearance of Kirio Hikifune, former Captain of the Twelfth Division. From the idle words of Captain Kyoraku Shunsui, he pieced together the truth of Hikifune's ascension.
It was then Aizen found something of interest. Above Soul Society, in the Royal Palace guarded by the Zero Division, might there exist someone who could match him?
However, ascending to the Royal Palace through promotion would be nothing short of disgraceful—an act beneath him and utterly imbalanced.
Thus, Aizen began his experiments, seeking a way to ascend not as a servant, but as a ruler. To break free from the dull limits of a Shinigami's existence.
Sometimes, fleeting thoughts crossed his mind:
"What if I could bring the Royal Palace crashing down into Soul Society? If someone equal to me exists, surely they would appear then."
"Or perhaps… if no one equal to me exists, should I create one?"
"If all souls were fused into the ultimate Hollow, would such a being meet my standards?"
During this period, Aizen encountered Makoto. For a brief moment, he couldn't sense Makoto's spiritual pressure.
The sensation was exhilarating. It was as if, after centuries of wandering a desolate wasteland, he had at last encountered another of his kind—a kindred spirit.
Excitement. Ecstasy. Fulfillment.
Driven by this newfound obsession, Aizen collected samples of Makoto's blood left behind in the Rukongai, studying every trace.
Through meticulous research, he uncovered an astonishing truth.
Makoto was neither a Shinigami born from the "Whole" of the living world nor a Hollow.
(Note: Souls of deceased humans in the living world are called "Wholes." They are guided to Soul Society and randomly distributed across the Rukongai districts. Those consumed by regret or emptiness may become Hollows.)
Makoto was special. Singular. Alone.
Aizen had searched for centuries for such a companion—one who, like himself, was unmatched and hidden, perhaps seeking to ease their own loneliness.
He had even seen Makoto effortlessly crush the hardened shell of an Adjuchas with a single finger.
Makoto was not as weak as he appeared. He was merely concealing his power, biding his time, just as Aizen did.
But Aizen knew the truth: in his current form, bound as a Shinigami, he was unworthy of standing beside Makoto. He would need to transcend both Shinigami and Hollow to reach the level required to face him.
For the first time, Aizen felt a sense of pursuit, a desire to chase someone. It was intoxicating, almost addictive.
While Seireitei's eyes fixated on the young prodigy Gin Ichimaru, Aizen's attention was devoted solely to Makoto.
"To be observed by my companion, Makoto… Let us see what lies ahead."
Aizen's calm gaze shifted towards the direction of the Shin'o Academy.
---
Makoto, meanwhile, remained entirely unaware of Aizen's thoughts. Having left the Shin'o Academy, Makoto now accompanied Byakuya Kuchiki to his former dwelling in the Rukongai.
Calling it his "hometown" was a stretch, as Makoto had only spent a few months there.
Thanks to intelligence from Urozakuro, Makoto was certain Aizen remained in Seireitei, leaving him unbothered by the possibility of an ambush in the Rukongai.
For Byakuya, however, this marked his first venture into the higher-numbered districts of the Rukongai. The disordered and grim surroundings visibly disturbed him, his brows furrowing instinctively.
To a noble raised within Seireitei, the chaos of the Rukongai was a jarring contrast.
The two, with their refined appearances, stood out starkly amidst the squalor of the streets. It was as though two worlds had collided, their incompatibility palpable.
"Not what you imagined, is it?" Makoto asked.
"It's… very different," Byakuya replied, his brow still knit tightly.
Makoto glanced at Byakuya but said nothing more. He led the young noble deeper into the Rukongai, intending to plant a seed in his heart during these formative years.
Most nobles would respond to such scenes with disdain or disgust. But Byakuya Kuchiki, who would one day defy tradition to marry a woman from the Rukongai, was a rare exception—gentle and equitable, a paragon among nobles.
"Though… he does love to maintain that rigid demeanor, as if afraid of tarnishing the Kuchiki name."
Makoto cast a sly glance at Byakuya, suppressing an inward chuckle.
Suddenly, the sound of scuffling and shouts erupted from a nearby alley.
"Stop right there, you little brat!"
"Run again, and I'll break your legs!"
"Damn kid, you'll regret it if I catch you!"
In the next instant, a small figure darted out from the alley, colliding straight into Byakuya.
Ordinary Rukongai residents stood no chance against the spiritual body of a noble. The collision sent the figure bouncing back, landing on the ground with a thud.
"Smack!"
Makoto and Byakuya turned their gazes toward the figure, taking in the messy, onion-like hairstyle of the small, disheveled child sitting before them.
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