"This Aizen… there's definitely something off about him."
"When he faced my Zanpakutō earlier, there wasn't a flicker of fear in his eyes."
"Almost like… everything I did was already within his expectations."
Hirako Shinji stood in the shadows outside the ruined kendo hall, his gaze distant as he mentally replayed the moment of their confrontation. He recalled the subtle shift in Aizen's eyes, that calm and unfazed smile, completely unshaken even as Akira's blade pierced Shinji's own shoulder.
That expression. That confidence.
It reminded Shinji too much of the man Aizen would eventually become.
"But Akira…"
"Is he truly a good older brother just someone who dotes on his sibling? Or…"
"Is he actually the one behind the curtain? The one indulging Aizen, even shielding him deliberately?"
Shinji narrowed his eyes.
"I can't tell right now. But whichever it is if I ever want to stop Aizen, then Akira is the wall I'll have to break through first."
Just thinking of Akira gave Hirako a headache.
Unlike Aizen, whose danger was rooted in cold intellect and manipulation, Akira was different.
He wasn't unreadable due to deception he was unreadable because of duality. A genius swordsman with terrifying Reiatsu and an unknown origin, who somehow still carried a gentle, protective air.
"Can't even tell if he's an innocent older brother…"
"Or a devil far worse than Aizen."
If it was the former, then all Shinji had to do was expose Aizen's true face in front of him. Easy.
But if it was the latter…
Then Akira wasn't just dangerous he was a monster.
Not twice as dangerous as Aizen.
Not ten times.
But a hundredfold.
He recalled something he had wanted to say but hesitated until now.
"Even if it's hard for you to accept… your younger brother isn't some pure-hearted prodigy. Even before he left your mother's womb, he might've already been cursed."
"You think I'm being dramatic?"
"Maybe you're wondering if I'm targeting you because I have some ulterior motive?"
Shinji's voice remained steady, but his eyes were sharp.
"Think about it. I'm the captain of the Fifth Division. I don't owe you anything. I have no grudge against you."
"What reason would I have to make an enemy of some Spiritual Arts Academy student, a so-called humble and upright boy named Aizen Sōsuke?"
He leaned slightly closer, eyes serious.
"You'd better watch your brother closely."
"Because if you don't want to lose him, then keep him from going down a path he won't come back from."
Shinji paused there, finally meeting Akira's gaze again.
He had made his move.
Now it was time to see what kind of man Akira truly was—a blindly loving older brother, or something darker, hidden beneath layers of calm.
"…You're good at reading people," Akira said quietly. His gaze flickered not with anger, but with introspection.
Of course he didn't want to lose Bi Wang his version of Aizen.
That was the entire reason he was walking this line.
To prevent the future: where Aizen would be besieged by Urahara's intricate Kido strategy, Ichigo Kurosaki's transcendent Mugetsu, and Soul Society's combined might.
A future where Aizen, betrayed by his own Hōgyoku, found himself alone abandoned by the very power he had sought to transcend evolution itself.
That loneliness and pride had been his undoing.
So Akira had made a choice to walk a different path.
To be the good older brother Aizen never had.
To be there before the betrayal, before the darkness consumed him.
He would do what Aizen wanted to do but couldn't.
Not only that he'd do it better.
Starting with the Visored.
Starting with preventing this cycle from repeating.
"I understand," Akira said softly. "You're a good man… and perhaps a better judge of character than I expected."
"Even though you drove a blade into me just now, it's because of that strike that I'm convinced you and I are not enemies."
He gestured to Shinji's shoulder.
"So I'll remember what you said. I will keep an eye on Aizen."
Shinji glanced down at the wound.
That strike had been clean deadly, if aimed even slightly lower.
He didn't doubt that Akira had held back.
He had no illusions about the young man's strength.
He could've crippled him.
But he didn't.
"You know," Akira added, looking back at him with unreadable eyes, "Aizen is my younger brother."
For a moment, Shinji saw something strange flash in those eyes something not entirely human.
And suddenly, his earlier evaluation of Akira felt… incomplete.
Shinji had thought Akira was intuitive able to read people.
But maybe that was only half the story.
Because if Akira wasn't using his talents responsibly if he wasn't held back by empathy, loyalty, or love then he would've surpassed Aizen in ruthlessness and ambition long ago.
After all, in Soul Society's brutal hierarchy, if you want to survive.
It's not about virtue.
It's about power.
"That's all I've got to say," Shinji muttered finally.
He didn't try to argue further.
He didn't ask Akira to make a choice between himself and Aizen.
He knew better.
Because no matter how much he tried to reason, they were still brothers.
And expecting someone to betray their own blood over a stranger's words?
Even Hirako Shinji wasn't that naïve.
And with that, he turned and quietly walked toward the exit of the Mao Kendo Gym, the broken boards creaking beneath his sandals as the wind swept in from the training yard outside.
To do this, Hirako Shinji had two purposes: one was to test Akira, and the other was to plant a seed of doubt in his heart a fracture in the image of the ideal younger brother.
As Hirako and Aizen passed each other near the entrance of the Mao Kendo Gym, Shinji's sharp eyes swept over Aizen's face.
That same gentle smile remained soft, warm, like a spring breeze.
Yet to Shinji, it felt colder than steel.
He had been watching him.
From the moment they entered the training hall.
From the subtleties of Aizen's body language to the rhythm of his breathing—not a single flaw had emerged.
No cracks. No tension. No fear.
Just the perfect image of a "modest gentleman."
A sunshine boy with flawless manners and an easy demeanor.
But who would believe that?
Not Hirako Shinji.
"Captain Hirako," Aizen said suddenly, breaking the silence with a serene tone, "you seem to carry a rather deep prejudice against me."
That signature smile remained—so disarming, so practiced.
But Shinji's reply was as cold as Kyōka Suigetsu's hilt.
"Aizen Sōsuke…"
"Keep hiding behind that mask."
"But I'll keep watching you until you slip."
Without another word, Shinji raised two fingers to his own eyes, then pointed directly at Aizen's.
A silent message.
I see you.
Aizen's calm facade remained unchanged, but the interaction drew a reaction from Shiba Isshin, who had been silent until now.
"Captain Hirako," Isshin said with an edge to his voice, "are you treating my words as empty wind?"
He had already warned Shinji earlier.
He'd spoken clearly not to recklessly target Aizen without proof.
And now, in front of everyone, Shinji had dismissed him again.
Isshin's eyes narrowed.
"Captain Isshin," Shinji replied dryly, "as a Shinigami, your strength and your values your sense of loyalty and righteousness are without question."
As he spoke, he gave Isshin a genuine thumbs-up.
"But when it comes to judging people…"
His thumb turned down.
Boom
Suddenly, a surge of raw Reiatsu exploded from Shiba Isshin.
It wasn't subtle.
The spiritual pressure swelled outward like a crashing wave, filling the entire dojo, shaking the wooden floorboards beneath their feet.
With deliberate precision, Isshin's right hand reached toward the hilt of his Zanpakutō.
"Don't be impulsive, Captain Shiba," Shinji said calmly, unmoved.
"Central 46 has clearly forbidden the liberation of Zanpakutō within the Seireitei."
He leaned in slightly.
"You don't want the Shiba Clan, already hanging by a thread, to fall further do you?"
His smirk returned, this time tinged with challenge, not mockery.
"You"
Isshin's face darkened, a shadow of fear flickering in his eyes not fear of Shinji, but fear for his family.
Once one of the Five Great Noble Clans, the Shiba name had crumbled into obscurity.
Now, barely surviving on the outskirts of Rukongai, they were no longer even permitted to hold court in Seireitei.
The once-mighty clan was down to just a few: Shiba Kaien, a rising star; Kūkaku, strong-willed but isolated; and the youngest, Ganju, still green.
If not for the Spiritual Arts Academy's nod and the rare leniency of some higher-ups they would've lost even their ancestral home.
Isshin knew all this.
He bore it on his back every day.
But what stung more now was being undermined again first by Shinji's fiery lieutenant Sarugaki Hiyori, and now by Shinji himself, ignoring his warnings and directly provoking a student he'd personally mentored.
Who was Isshin?
A man of instinct.
A man who would fight for any soul that asked him for help even strangers.
Let alone someone like Aizen, whom he'd taught swordsmanship, even just once.
Clang
The tension snapped.
Isshin lifted his gaze, now like the edge of a drawn blade.
Cold, focused.
Without a word, he slowly began to unsheath his Zanpakutō, its polished steel glinting under the flickering lamplight of the dojo.
A direct response.
Not with speeches.
Not with anger.
But with resolve.
If Hirako Shinji wanted to question his judgment
Then he would answer not with excuses, but with steel.