I'm not beating the Bum allegations..
---
The soft light of the afternoon sun filled Arima's quiet home.
The gentle rustle of leaves outside and the distant sounds of children playing made it feel peaceful—a far cry from the battles and chaos both men were used to.
Inside, Arima sat at the low wooden table, dressed in a simple robe, far removed from his days as the White Reaper.
His eyes were calm, and his presence felt like the embodiment of stillness itself.
Across from him sat Aizen.
"I've been thinking," Aizen began casually, lifting his cup to his lips. "About Kido—its limits, to be precise."
Arima raised an eyebrow slightly, showing mild interest.
"Beyond level 100?" Arima asked, his tone remained quiet and even.
"Yes," Aizen nodded, swirling the tea thoughtfully. "In theory, it should be possible to go beyond what's currently considered the limit. But if anyone could achieve that… it would only be two beings."
Arima stayed silent, letting Aizen finish.
"You," Aizen said with a slight smirk. "Or the Soul King himself."
For a moment, Arima simply stared into his cup, the steam rising lazily into the air.
"I have no desire for such power anymore," Arima replied calmly. "I've left that world behind."
Aizen chuckled softly. "That's what makes you the most dangerous, even now. Power means nothing to those who no longer need to seek it."
There was a short pause, the air growing heavier with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
Then, Aizen's expression shifted—his playful smirk softened into something almost… genuine.
"But that's not why I came here today," Aizen said, setting his cup down with a soft clink.
Arima's gaze met his, sharp and unreadable.
"I've done it, Arima," Aizen said, voice steady but carrying an undertone of pride. "I've finally broken the barrier that separated Hollows from something greater. I've created Arrancars—Hollows who've evolved, taken human form, and gained intelligence and power beyond what was once possible."
For a moment, silence settled between them like a thick fog.
Arima didn't react—at least not outwardly.
He simply stared at Aizen, the calm in his eyes hiding the storm of thoughts running through his mind.
"I fail to see why you're telling me this," Arima finally said, voice low and controlled. "Our paths are no longer the same."
Aizen leaned back, relaxed but serious. "I know. I didn't come here expecting you to involve yourself in my plans. I just thought… maybe I should show you the results. After all, whether you admit it or not, you've influenced my work more than you realize."
Arima's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I've been retired for ten years, Aizen," Arima said, his voice like a stone wall—unmoving, unshaken. "I have no interest in getting involved again. I won't interfere with you. Not unless I have no choice."
Aizen studied him for a moment, as if searching for cracks in that resolve. But there were none.
"However," Arima continued after a moment, his voice softening just a little, "I would like to meet this Arrancar of yours… one day. Not now. Maybe when Kaneki is strong enough to protect himself."
There was a certain warmth when he spoke his son's name—an unmistakable sense of responsibility and love. His hand rested lightly on the table, steady and protective.
"Until then, I'm not leaving Seireitei."
Aizen gave a small nod, not pushing further.
"I understand," Aizen said, standing slowly. "You've found something worth protecting, Arima. I suppose that's the one thing I never did."
Aizen sat there wordlessly as both with both of them having a stating contest
Arima's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"What are you trying to do?"
The easygoing mood shifted like a sudden drop in temperature.
The playful conversation was over.
Aizen leaned forward, eyes sharp now—dangerously sharp.
"I know about your condition, Arima."
The reaction was instantaneous.
For the briefest fraction of a second—0.000001 second—an unimaginable wave of killing intent erupted from Arima.
It wasn't anger.
It wasn't fear.
It was pure, unfiltered death.
The very air seemed to crack apart under the weight of his spiritual pressure.
Birds scattered from nearby trees, animals throughout Seireitei shrieked in terror, and even the winds seemed to hold their breath.
For the first time in decades, Aizen sweated.
His body tensed involuntarily, his instincts screaming at him to run—even though he knew it wouldn't help.
But just as quickly as it came, the pressure vanished.
Arima's face was blank again, calm as still water.
His voice, however, was colder than ice.
"How?"
Aizen took a steady breath, composing himself. "The Hōgyoku revealed it to me."
Silence followed.
"I have a proposition," Aizen continued, his tone serious.
Arima stared, still and quiet, like a mountain that wouldn't move no matter the storm.
"Go on."
Aizen leaned in closer. "I don't think you should die like this. The world shouldn't lose someone like you—not someone of your strength, your intelligence. I believe the Hōgyoku—when complete—could heal you."
Arima's eyes didn't even blink. His voice remained steady.
"And what would you gain from this, Aizen? You think healing me will make me fight for you? I'll be indebted ?—"
Aizen didn't even let him finish.
"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "That's not it at all."
There was no arrogance now—no games or smug smiles.
Just something raw.
Something honest.
"I don't want you to die before I surpass you,"
Aizen admitted. "You are my ideal, Arima. I may not share your personality, but I strive to reach your level—your power, your understanding."
For the first time, Arima's mask cracked. His expression didn't change, but deep within, something stirred.
"I want you alive to see it when I surpass you," Aizen continued, his voice steady but intense. "I want to face you at your peak, not as a dying man wasting away in the shadows. Your death before that would be meaningless to me."
The room grew heavy again, thick with the weight of their shared history and mutual respect—even if neither would admit it outright.
Arima remained silent for a long time.
Then, finally, his voice broke through the silence.
"You're as selfish as ever," Arima murmured. His words weren't angry—just a statement of fact.
Aizen offered a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps. But I think you owe it to yourself… and to the world… to survive."
The silence stretched between them once more.
And strangely… Arima didn't feel entirely sure of his answer.
As he moved toward the door, Aizen paused for a moment, glancing back.
"Enjoy your peace. You wear it better than the title of White Reaper ever did."
The door slid shut behind him, leaving Arima alone in the quiet.
For a moment, Arima sat there, his thoughts lingering on the conversation.
---
After Aizen left, silence filled the room like a thick fog.
Arima sat still, his eyes staring off into the distance, though it wasn't clear what he was looking at.
His mind was weighed down by Aizen's words, playing over and over.
The sound of the door opening broke through his heavy thoughts.
"What happened?"
Yachiru's voice was soft but full of concern after feeling his killing intent.
Arima didn't turn to her.
His eyes stayed fixed on nothing, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and distant.
"Nothing."
But Yachiru wasn't fooled by his answer.
She stepped closer, her worry clear in the way she moved.
"You asked me why all your efforts to heal me never worked."Arima said
"Arima," she said gently.
For a moment, he stayed quiet. Then, finally, he spoke.
"It's because… I already accepted that I was going to die."
Yachiru's breath hitched in her throat.
"We've gone over this," she started, trying to push through the lump forming in her throat.
"No," Arima cut in, his voice soft but firm. "There's something I never told you."
He finally turned to face her, and for the first time, Yachiru saw something in his eyes she wasn't used to—fear.
"The stronger a Shinigami becomes, the stronger their will affects their body. Our thoughts… they can shape our reality to an extant."
Yachiru's eyes widened, the meaning of his words sinking in slowly.
"But that's not the only reason you couldn't help me," Arima continued, his voice steady now, as if he had finally come to terms with the truth.
"The real reason… is that I've been too stubborn to let myself be saved."
Yachiru's heart clenched, but before she could speak, he said something that made her freeze.
"I know how you can heal me."
She stared at him, her voice barely a whisper. "Then why haven't you told me before?"
Arima looked down, his expression heavy with regret.
"Because healing me comes with a cost… a choice I didn't want to face."
He raised his head again, meeting her eyes.
His gaze was steady, but there was pain in it—deep and hidden beneath years of silence.
"I can either keep my power… or keep my life."
Yachiru stood there in stunned silence, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from beneath her.
"Arima…"
His voice softened even more now, like the wind before a storm.
"And I won't let go of that power until I finish training Kaneki."
Yachiru didn't wait for Arima to speak. She suddenly cut through the heavy silence like it was nothing.
"Shut it."
The words hit harder than Arima expected.
He blinked, surprised—not by her anger, but by how sharp and sudden it was.
"Okay?" she snapped, stepping forward. "You're being way too mopey again."
Arima had been ready to give another long explanation, to speak about acceptance, fate, and why things had to be this way.
Yachiru didn't let him say a word.
She looked at him with fire in her eyes, the same determination that had always made her stand out—strong, stubborn.
"I figured out a way to fix this," she said, her voice steady and full of certainty. "Even without you making some stupid sacrifice."
Arima just stared at her, shocked. His mouth opened slightly, ready to say, 'You don't understand, Yachiru—this isn't something you can fix.'
But nothing came out.
She stepped closer, her presence almost forcing him to listen.
"Do you really think I'd just stand by and let you die? After what you pulled?" Her voice was thick with emotion now—anger, pain, and something deeper… fear. "listen here I need more kids okay so you need to live at least another 900 years, got it ?"
Arima had no answer. The words that usually came so easily were gone, drowned out by the raw honesty in her voice.
She took another step forward and jabbed a finger into his chest.
"I'm not going to let you choose between your power and your life," Yachiru said firmly.
"You're going to have both. You hear me? Both."
"If you don't mind me asking… How?"
Yachiru crossed her arms, her usual playful smirk on her face. "Well, I got tired of asking around Seireitei. Everyone here's useless when it comes to real answers."
Arima raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
"So, I turned to humans instead," she continued. "They're messy, but they've figured out things Soul Society hasn't. I learned a few interesting ideas—and I think I've found a way to help you. A way for you to live and fix everything."
Arima's gaze sharpened. "And what's that?"
Yachiru stepped closer, her voice steady. "By planting a Divine Tree using my zanpakutō."
Arima stared at her. "A Divine Tree…?"
"Yes"
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Stones and Reviews please