However—
Around the world, through the mysterious resonance of the inventory video, the audience's senses were thrown into chaos.
Except for a handful of the strongest individuals, nearly everyone watching was affected.
Sight. Hearing. Smell. Even touch.
All dulled. All stolen.
For a brief moment, they, too, experienced the nightmare of Suzumushi's Bankai.
Some panicked.
Some trembled in terror.
Others struggled, clawing at the air, desperate to regain their senses.
Only a few did not panic.
In fact… they reacted in the opposite way.
From the very moment Tōsen swung his blade and shouted "Bankai!"—
they began cursing nonstop.
Loud, vicious, cathartic swearing that echoed through the empty warehouse where they watched.
Because those people—
were the Visoreds.
The once-proud captains who had been betrayed by Tōsen's hand a hundred years ago.
"Damn that bastard!"
"Just seeing that smug face makes the scar on my back ache all over again!"
"Kenpachi, if you don't chop him into pieces, I swear I'll crawl into that screen myself!"
"God, it pisses me off every time I see him—still acting righteous after stabbing us all in the back!"
The abandoned warehouse shook from their collective rage.
Hiyori stomped her foot so hard the wooden floor cracked, while Love and Rose clenched their fists, barely containing their anger.
Kensei's jaw tightened, the veins in his neck bulging.
That night from a century ago—
they could still remember it in excruciating detail.
How Tōsen had struck them from behind.
How his Bankai had drowned them in darkness.
How one by one, every captain and lieutenant had fallen, unable to see, to hear, or to fight back.
And when the Visoreds lay defeated…
Aizen had stepped out from the shadows.
That night was burned into their souls as the night Aizen began his rise.
So now—seeing Suzumushi's black dome once again—
every ounce of old hatred came flooding back.
"Kenpachi," Shinji muttered, eyes narrowing.
"You'd better not let us down. End it for us."
He stared at the faint outline of the dome, his voice low but filled with conviction.
"Cut through that darkness.
Make him pay."
And then—
The video answered their prayer.
The outcome unfolded almost exactly as Shinji had hoped.
Kenpachi, as if following a script written by destiny, broke the Bankai's darkness in the most brutal way imaginable.
"Shraa!"
A blade swung through the void.
Inside that pitch-black sphere, where even light could not exist, Tōsen's voice echoed arrogantly—explaining Suzumushi's ability.
He spoke of how it stole every sense: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch—
leaving his opponent helpless, drowning in confusion.
It was supposed to be absolute.
But this time—his words became his own curse.
Because before he could finish boasting, Kenpachi's laughter cut through the dark.
"...So that's all it does?!"
The heavy sound of boots echoed closer.
Then—steel pierced flesh.
Tōsen froze in disbelief. His blade had struck, yes—but Kenpachi hadn't even moved to dodge.
Instead, the man's hand clamped around his wrist like a vice.
"Yo," Kenpachi grinned, his teeth flashing through the gloom. "Long time no see."
He leaned forward, the smile widening into a madman's sneer.
"Guess I figured it out… the moment I grab you, your Bankai stops working, huh?"
As he spoke, the video's color and sound came rushing back—
the world itself returning from blackness to blinding light.
A golden aura flared around Kenpachi's body.
He raised his chipped blade high—
and brought it down in a single, devastating swing.
From a distance, the screen zoomed out, revealing the full picture—
Kenpachi standing tall, his sword descending in a luminous arc, while Tōsen's body erupted in a burst of crimson.
"...It's over," Yamamoto murmured in the First Division barracks.
The old man's eyes closed briefly, his tone calm yet heavy.
"At that distance, and with his arm restrained… Tōsen's death is inevitable."
Even though anger still simmered within him—rage that his captains had clashed at all—
he could not deny the sheer power before him.
He had always viewed Kenpachi as a reckless fool—
a man of brute strength, not control.
But now…
Watching this battle, the Captain-Commander saw something else.
Potential.
"His blade… 'Nozarashi,'" Yamamoto muttered. "If it truly awakens, his power may rival even mine."
His words carried no arrogance—only truth.
The wild beast still had not reached its limit.
And so, with one final strike—
Kenpachi's sword fell.
Blood exploded across the ground as Tōsen's body convulsed, then collapsed to his knees.
The dome of darkness shattered like glass, fragments of spiritual energy scattering into the air.
Light flooded the battlefield once more.
The audience roared in shock—
but for Kenpachi, it was just another fight.
He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and muttered,
"Boring."
Meanwhile, back in Las Noches—
"Tch… knew it," Nnoitra spat, his tone venomous. "That idiot lost."
"He brought shame to Aizen-sama—what a disgrace."
The other Arrancar turned toward him slowly, amusement flickering across their faces.
"Pretty bold words," Grimmjow snorted. "You sure you wanna talk big, Nnoitra? You're up next, remember?"
"What?"
Before he could react, the screen flickered again—seamlessly transitioning to the next segment.
And from within that blinding light, a familiar, mocking voice echoed—
"Heh… Zaraki Kenpachi, huh?"
"Don't get the wrong idea."
"I'm the strongest Espada. My hierro's harder than any armor in existence."
"No matter how many times you swing that sword—"
"—you'll never cut through me."
The voice was arrogant.
Ruthless.
Dripping with overconfidence.
And in that instant—
Every Arrancar in the room froze.
Then, slowly, they all turned their heads.
All eyes fixed on Nnoitra Jiruga.
"Strongest Espada, huh?" Yammy grinned, baring his teeth.
"Yeah," Grimmjow added, smirking. "Sure, buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Even Tesla covered his face with one hand, embarrassed.
The entire hall filled with laughter.
Nnoitra's grin twitched.
"...The hell are you all looking at?"
(End of Chapter)
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