"Do you know what you did wrong?"
A cold, heavy voice echoed in the still air, brushing past her ears like a chilling breeze. The arrancar woman, Roka, froze. Every inch of her tense body screamed submission. She lowered her head, shame written all over her face.
"I'm sorry... Szayelaporro-sama."
Of course she knew what she had done wrong. Her carelessness had almost cost them everything.
She had wandered too close to Ugendō Hall, unable to resist the allure of the Seireitei's scenery. Her spiritual signature was nearly detected by a captain of the Gotei 13. That mistake could have exposed Szayelaporro's lingering consciousness inside her. And now, with his current fragile state, any direct encounter with a captain-class shinigami could mean annihilation.
"Only this time. Never again." Szayelaporro's voice, devoid of emotion, passed through her mind.
Then his tone shifted.
"But... I didn't expect you still remembered."
He was referring to her earlier recognition of Ukitake Jushiro.
A strange reaction, given Roka's background. She had spent most of her existence within Las Noches as a medical-class arrancar. There should have been no opportunity for her to even glimpse a captain from the Gotei 13.
And yet, she had recognized him without any trouble.
The memory that answered Szayelaporro's curiosity wasn't hers alone. It was buried in a tangled past—one dating back more than two hundred and fifty years.
Back then, Szayelaporro was not yet one of Baraggan's subordinates. But he was already infamous in Hueco Mundo, a tyrannical scientist and a Menos Grande of the Vasto Lorde-class. Having grown bored of testing his creations in Hueco Mundo, his ambition had turned outward.
Soul Society became his laboratory's next target.
To provoke the shinigami into battle, he unleashed waves of Gillians—mere test samples. Naturally, they were effortlessly exterminated.
Then came a refined creation.
Roka, the prototype Adjuchas. Modified by Szayelaporro's unholy experiments, she possessed power that could rival lieutenants. But when she invaded Soul Society, she was confronted by none other than the monster called "Kenpachi".
Despite her augmented strength, she was thoroughly outmatched.
But the Kenpachi didn't strike the final blow.
He paused. Eyes narrowing, as if he sensed something more behind the mask she wore. After a tense moment, he simply let her go, warning the unseen presence—Szayelaporro—lurking behind her.
That moment had burned itself into Szayelaporro's memory.
He had initially intended to destroy Roka once she returned. She was, after all, just an experiment. But something about that fight intrigued him—perhaps it was due to the man who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the battlefield.
Azashiro Soya.
Another candidate vying for the title of Kenpachi.
His clash with the reigning Kenpachi had left a deep impression on Szayelaporro. Observing from the shadows, he gleaned a fragment of power, a hint of potential.
And so, in a good mood, Roka was spared by him.
From then on, she followed him in his studies. It was during this period she met Jushiro, who had arrived at the scene alongside Kyoraku Shunsui as witnesses.
Szayelaporro had taken an interest in Azashiro's peculiar spiritual silk techniques. Through twisted trial and error, he modified Roka's structure and gifted her with the Negación Silk—a synthetic power meant to simulate the shinigami's barrier fields.
Though it was eventually deemed obsolete, it played a key role in his current resurrection.
"Szayelaporro-sama, what shall we do next?" Roka asked softly.
A pause.
"Keep creating unrest... but protect yourself."
His voice was resolute.
The Picaro were useful to a point—they could sow temporary chaos, enough to stir attention. But they lacked the strength for sustained disruption. They were, after all, children at heart.
No, if Szayelaporro wanted true disturbance, he would need to escalate the game himself.
Hueco Mundo was no longer an option. It had become the dominion of that man. The moment he stirred trouble there, Las Noches would descend upon him with full force. No... this wasn't the time for open conflict.
But Seireitei? Ah... Seireitei was a powder keg.
Tension had been building since the defection of Aizen and Mazuru. Central 46 was massacred, and chaos had taken root. The Gotei 13 had held back only because of Mazuru's overwhelming power. But this restraint was artificial—it wouldn't last.
The Soul Society, proud and steeped in hierarchy, would not tolerate humiliation forever.
So, Szayelaporro struck where it hurt most.
A thunderous explosion echoed across Seireitei.
*Boom!*
It tore through the tranquility of Noble Street—the very heart of Soul Society's aristocracy.
Szayelaporro smirked from within Roka's consciousness. He understood their pride. The nobility was the backbone of the Seireitei's order. An attack on Noble Street wasn't just terrorism—it was heresy.
They would be outraged.
That fury was exactly what Szayelaporro needed.
Meanwhile, in the Seireitei Commercial District...
Nestled between two spice shops and a traditional clothing store stood a small, elegantly crafted building: Silver Dragonfly Glasses.
Inside, Omaeda Mareyo was picking out spectacles for her brother, Omaeda Marejirosaburo, who had recently joined the Technology Development Bureau. The store's interior had an old-fashioned charm—mahogany counters, golden lanterns, and display shelves lined with frames of every shape and color.
The shopkeeper, Ginjiro, an aged man who had once been the vice-captain of the Sixth Division two and a half centuries ago, still ran the place. Despite having long since retired from the shinigami corps, his wisdom and craftsmanship earned him the respect of many.
When he stepped into the back room to fetch some wrapping paper, Mareyo found herself alone.
That was when the bell above the door chimed.
*Ding...*
A tall figure in a white haori stepped inside.
Mareyo blinked, startled.
The haori—the captain's mantle. Only Gotei 13 captains wore it.
But... she didn't recognize him.
His face was sharp, aristocratic. His expression cold and unreadable. His black hair was tied in a low ponytail, his posture immaculate.
He walked silently to the counter, removed a cloth bag from his sleeve, and placed it on the wood surface with a solid clunk.
The sound was unmistakable—gold coins.
Mareyo hesitated. What was she supposed to do? The shopkeeper was still in the back.
Before she could decide, the man turned to leave.
"H-Hey! Wait!" she blurted out instinctively. "The manager will be back in a moment! He went to get wrapping paper!"
The man paused, then slowly turned to face her.
His gaze locked onto hers.
"You're Omaeda Mareyo."
Her breath caught in her throat.
How did he know her name?
*****
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