Between heaven and earth, silence reigned.
Only the boy's voice lingered in the air—calm, resonant, and absolute, the kind of tone that could belong only to a true king. Its clarity carried power, an echo that rippled through the world itself.
Aizen's entire body went cold. For the first time in his life, he felt something alien and unbearable—fear. The sensation was foreign to him, a fissure in the perfect, unshakable calm that had defined him since ascending above the rest of Soul Society. Never, even when standing before Yamamoto Genryūsai's blazing inferno of Reiatsu, had he felt this emotion.
Yet now, before this youth whose eyes reflected neither hatred nor pride, only a tranquil inevitability, Aizen's heart quivered. The weight of that quiet authority pressed against his soul until it cracked.
Confusion and disbelief tangled within him. He was supposed to have transcended every boundary, ascended beyond the reach of gods and Shinigami alike. No one—no being—should be capable of instilling fear in him.
So why did he want to kneel?
What was this force that made his very essence bow? Was this boy a Shinigami, a king, or something far beyond—a god?
Thousands of questions raged inside him. The calm he had built over centuries trembled under the crushing reality before him. The boy stood with one hand folded behind his back, the other resting lightly atop Aizen's head—not with malice, but with the effortless certainty of a monarch acknowledging a subject.
There was no arrogance in his eyes. No contempt. Only calm detachment, as though he were observing a wayward child.
"Aren't you going to answer?" the boy asked softly.
The words were light as air, yet they struck like thunder. Even whispered, they seemed to echo from the heavens themselves.
Aizen's jaw clenched. The humiliation burned deeper than the fear. He forced his trembling head upward, straining against that invisible pressure, only to meet the youth's still gaze—eyes that reflected an ancient calm and unfathomable depth.
The air trembled again. The imperial coercion surged higher.
A sharp crack split the silence as Unohana Retsu finally fell to her knees, her long lashes lowered in surrender. Her quiet dignity dissolved beneath the weight of the unseen force.
Yamamoto Genryūsai's cane sank deeper into the shattered ground. His entire frame locked in place like an ancient mountain about to crumble, holding his last fragment of pride against the storm.
"Captain Su Li…"
Omaeda's voice quivered incoherently as foam gathered at his lips before he rolled his eyes and nearly fainted.
Around them, the rest of the captains and lieutenants collapsed, their faces pale, eyes rolled white, bodies trembling violently beneath the weight of that divine pressure.
And Aizen bore the brunt of it all. His blood felt frozen, his heart sluggish, his breath locked in his chest. His head was forced lower and lower until his forehead nearly brushed the ground. The suffocating fear carved into his very soul, blending humiliation with a growing fury.
Never had he been reduced like this.
The memories burned behind his eyes—the blow on the Sōkyoku Hill, the brutal impact of fists in the shattered sky, and now, kneeling again like a defeated general before an emperor.
The pain of that realization split his pride wide open.
Humiliation ignited into wrath.
With a roar, his Reiatsu burst forth like a storm. The imperial coercion wavered under the surge as Aizen's spiritual pressure soared toward the heavens.
"Hadō Number Ninety—Kurohitsugi!"
The ground exploded as a colossal Black Coffin erupted, swallowing the boy whole. In the same instant, Aizen's figure shattered into fragments of light and vanished, reappearing thousands of miles away in less than a blink.
Even now, there was no relief on his face—only trembling breath and sweat-drenched robes. His heart still pounded with an unfamiliar terror.
He turned toward the massive Black Coffin dominating the sky. Its presence blotted out the sun, and for the first time in his life, Aizen's pupils dilated—not in awe, but in disbelief that his fear lingered even now.
The imperial aura dimmed slightly beneath the coffin's dark barrier, giving the others a moment's respite.
One by one, the captains collapsed onto the rubble. Yamamoto alone remained standing, his chest rising heavily with each breath.
The others lay gasping, drenched in sweat, their faces ghostly pale. Even freed from the full weight of Su Li's presence, fear clung to them like a shadow.
Then, a faint sound echoed—crack.
Every eye turned upward.
A single fracture ran down the surface of the Black Coffin.
Aizen's expression froze as more lines spread from that mark like spiderwebs until the entire construct was veined with fractures.
With a sound like shattering glass, the enormous coffin exploded into fragments of shadow that dispersed into drifting black motes.
Through the falling darkness, Su Li stepped forward. His white haori fluttered lightly as he lowered his hand, his expression untouched by emotion. The world itself seemed to bow around him.
"Captain Su Li…"
Omaeda's voice broke, caught between awe and despair. Urahara, ever pragmatic, sighed, pulled a small cushion from his sleeve, and knelt upon it properly.
Sui-Feng lay on her side, resting her cheek against her palm, eyes wide with unrestrained devotion.
Unohana adjusted her stance, folding one leg beneath her and setting her sandals neatly aside, bowing her head with quiet grace. The faint flutter of her pulse betrayed something she would never speak aloud.
Even Yamamoto sat heavily upon the rubble, his weathered eyes reflecting fatigue, pride, and a shadow of relief.
Aizen stood far away, blade trembling in his grip. His knees quivered, but he forced them to lock. This time, he would not kneel, even if both legs shattered beneath him.
His Reiatsu flared again, bright and sharp.
Every Shinigami on the battlefield tensed, bracing for the return of that divine pressure.
But instead, the storm receded. The overwhelming aura dissipated like mist.
The boy turned his gaze toward Aizen, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his lips.
"You seem terrified of me," he said softly, his voice cutting across the miles.
Aizen's breath caught.
"Then I'll give you half of it."
He appeared before Aizen in the next instant—no motion, no step, just presence. The air around him stilled.
"Give me half…?" Aizen muttered, eyes wide. "Just half…?"
The words snapped something inside him. Fury roared up, molten and wild.
"Half a point? Don't mock me!"
His blade surged with blinding energy as he slashed downward, the sword pressure so immense it tore the air apart. The heavens split, the ground convulsed, and the entire world seemed to tremble under his strike.
Even Yamamoto's eyes widened with alarm.
But Su Li merely lifted one hand, extending a single finger toward the sky.
"I was talking about this," he murmured.
The blade's crushing force met that solitary finger.
A deafening boom tore through the heavens.
Aizen's sword pressure shattered in two halves, split cleanly down the middle as if the world itself obeyed the boy's command.
Aizen stared, disbelieving, as the remnants of his attack dissolved into dust.
Su Li's gaze never changed. His voice, calm and steady, finished what he had begun.
"Let you have half of it," he said quietly.
"Not half a point."
"Half a finger."
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