— Impressive. —
The glow emanating from the Hōgyoku made Aizen's eyes shine. His previously tense expression immediately relaxed.
— To trigger a reaction of this level… it seems we are closer to our goal. Shinya-kun, Tōsen, this is a day worth celebrating. —
Aizen's enthusiasm was visible to the naked eye.
Tōsen, as always, expressed his respect and offered a few words of congratulations.
In contrast, Arima Shinya remained impassive — his attention fully fixed on the figure lying on the ground.
Short, orange hair cut to shoulder length.
A small dark mark adorned the corner of her mouth.
She wore a light green kimono, and wounded, she curled her body like a small rodent trying to protect itself.
Lying on her side, her breath came in short, ragged gasps through parted lips, as if an invisible force were suffocating her.
Matsumoto Rangiku.
Compared to her original image, this woman looked completely different — without the slightest trace of "seduction."
Just a young woman with a clean and delicate appearance.
Perhaps because she had yet to display her "attributes," Arima thought for a moment.
But, in any case, this type of provocative character had never really caught his interest.
And, frankly, he had no intention of meddling in someone else's love affairs…
Relationships like Yoruichi and Urahara Kisuke, or Rangiku and Gin — those were the ones Arima appreciated.
After all, everyone has their own taste; nothing to force.
As he watched the Hōgyoku boil in Aizen's hands, Arima Shinya let his mind wander among thoughts.
Although he had never read spin-off novels or listened to audio dramas, word of mouth in the spiritual community had made him aware of an interesting fact:
inside Matsumoto Rangiku's body existed a residual fragment — the tip of one of the Soul King's fingers.
One could say that the "Great King of the Dead" was valuable from head to toe.
Research, life, training… everything seemed to depend on him.
With a slight sigh, Arima averted his gaze.
Even though Rangiku had lost part of her soul, her life was not in immediate danger.
Still, leaving her there would be the same as condemning her.
The hollows prowling at night, the gangs wandering the alleys — any of them could easily end her life.
But, perhaps, this case was an exception.
After all, someone was watching from a distance — a boy who had not yet left.
Probably believing that distance was enough, he did not bother hiding his presence…
Short, lilac hair.
Slender, almost fragile body.
A quick glance would make one think he was a malnourished child.
Hidden behind a corner, tens of meters away, the boy observed cautiously — like a frightened but determined coyote.
Ichimaru Gin.
Perhaps due to the hostility of the environment, he appeared even smaller, thinner than usual — almost like a child who had yet to grow.
Still, recalling his appearance in the future, Arima accepted that contrast easily.
But, honestly… this boy really did not know how to hide his presence.
His thirst for blood was perceptible.
Weak, restrained — but there it was, sharp and poisonous, like the hiss of a viper hidden in the grass.
Hard to ignore.
Considering the relationship between Matsumoto Rangiku and Ichimaru Gin, it was natural for him to hate him at that moment.
If it were not for the desire to reclaim what "belonged" to Rangiku, the skinny youth would probably never have aspired to become a shinigami.
Tōsen, the most perceptive among them, turned his face in silence. His right hand slowly rose, touching the hilt of his sword.
Huh? Wait… is he going to act?
Arima blinked, surprised.
If Tōsen really drew his blade now, Ichimaru Gin wouldn't stand a chance of survival!
So… how did this scene happen in the original again?
Thinking quickly, Arima stepped half a pace forward and, with a firm gesture, grasped Tōsen's hand before he could pull the sword.
— …? —
The blind man looked confused, turning his face toward him as if asking:
"What are you doing?"
Arima remained silent, subtly increasing the pressure on the other's arm.
Sheathe your sword, brother.
The boss had certainly already noticed that hostility.
But, considering that in the original Aizen did not care about such details, it was likely that, once again, he wouldn't give a damn.
The hatred of the ants… to him, was irrelevant.
And, as expected —
— Shinya-kun, Tōsen. Let's go. —
Aizen's voice sounded calm and serene.
Sheathing the Hōgyoku against his chest, he resumed walking forward, showing no sign of irritation.
He did not even look back.
Tōsen remained still for a brief moment, then released the sword hilt and placed his hand on Arima's shoulder.
— Seems you understand Master Aizen better than I do. —
— …? —
How did this become a compliment?
Arima shook his head, confused, and prepared to leave — but hesitated for a moment.
No, it was not his intention to "eliminate witnesses."
After all, Ichimaru Gin, as a future ally, was someone whose existence would still be necessary.
As for the future…
Arima did not believe he would lose to that "genius" — and with his own preparations, the balance was ensured.
The future, after all, was uncertain.
And, under the conditions he had, it was best not to change anything unnecessarily.
With that decided, he bent down and took a small cloth pouch from inside his kimono, placing it beside Rangiku.
She looked at him with a confused expression.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Arima gave a shy smile.
— Sorry… consider this a small compensation. —
Soon after, he stood and departed, following Aizen and Tōsen.
The "Aizen Company team activity" came to an end.
Only then did Ichimaru Gin run to Rangiku's body.
— Rangiku! Are you okay?! —
Checking her breathing and pulse, the boy finally exhaled in relief.
At least she was alive — and that was enough.
When Rangiku slowly opened her eyes, weak and cloudy, Gin's lips pressed into a thin line.
Just like his Zanpakutō — Shinso.
A blade that could extend and retract freely — storing power silently until the moment to unleash it with devastating force.
Who were those men?
Why were they there?
He knew nothing.
And even if Rangiku had died before his eyes, all he could do was swallow his hatred and endure.
He needed power.
That thought sank into his mind like a drop of black ink falling into clear water — spreading quickly, consuming everything.
As for the small pouch left behind…
Gin disregarded the gesture, but at Rangiku's request, decided to open it.
Inside was half a pouch of kan, the special currency of the Soul Society.
Besides serving as a medium of exchange, it also had energetic properties — something valuable and versatile.
In places like the Districts of the Indigent, where bartering was common, an amount like this was very valuable.
Instinctively, Gin closed the pouch and pressed it against Rangiku's chest.
Then he raised his eyes toward the direction the three had disappeared, his brow furrowing with concern.
That man…
What is he really thinking?
—
(End of Chapter)
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