An unexpected figure slowly stepped out from the smoke and flames, eventually stopping beside Yamamoto Genryūsai.
His face was scorched and dirtied with blood that had splattered, sizzled, and dried against his skin like birthmarks.
Seiya's appearance was anything but elegant—yet he still wore a calm smile.
Wielding his Zanpakutō, he swayed slightly and then sat down right next to the old man. Casual, as if they were merely old companions resting together.
"You're incredible, Yama-jii."
Raising his now-empty left arm symbolically, Seiya's smile remained unchanged.
"Even though I was being cautious, you still managed to cut off my arm."
Yamamoto's strikes were savage—Seiya had expected that much, yet still couldn't avoid it completely.
But sacrificing a single arm, and Yamamoto only ended up wounded?
To the onlookers, the conclusion was clear: A one-armed Seiya couldn't possibly win.
But then…
Yamamoto slowly sat cross-legged beside him and closed his eyes.
"I lost."
The stunned gasps from the Gotei 13 couldn't be contained.
"Wha—? Captain-Commander?! If even you give up, what are we supposed to do?!"
Aizen's calm voice cut through their disbelief.
"What's so surprising?"
With a casual flick of his wrist, Aizen dispelled the reishi veil surrounding Seiya and Yamamoto.
"Did you truly think you had a chance of winning?"
Conversing with fools was not the hallmark of a wise man, but to Aizen, this was a declaration of victory.
A rare moment to assert superiority.
"If I wanted to, I could've altered Yamamoto's perception at any time."
"Imagine if every one of his strikes had hit his own allies. What would things look like now?"
"You were never on equal footing. You only thought you were—because of Seiya's mercy."
Raising his hand, he slowly scanned over the group, pointing here and there like tallying up refuse.
Cold. Dismissive.
"Whether I manipulated Yamamoto or Seiya held him off while I eliminated you one by one—your fate wouldn't change."
"But we didn't do that. Because Seiya asked me not to."
"Isn't it ironic? Even such a gentle man as he is treated as a monster, just because he stood beside me."
Aizen didn't care whether people misunderstood him.
But that they misunderstood Seiya? That annoyed him.
"Do you really believe Yamamoto won?"
He scoffed.
"With both fighters putting everything into a full-frontal strike, neither capable of defending…"
"Then how is Yamamoto's wound not fatal?"
Seiya lost an arm.
Did he only manage to nick Yamamoto's torso in return?
Clearly not.
He held back.
With Zanka no Tachi at full power, both had fought equally. Yamamoto cut off Seiya's arm—but Seiya could've cleaved the man in half.
"Remember this well, Gotei 13."
"Your so-called advantage is a gift of another's mercy."
"Your survival… rests within our compassion."
Not wiping them out completely wasn't kindness—it was disinterest.
Aizen's superiority silenced everyone.
They couldn't argue—not when the truth was so obvious.
Could they accuse Aizen of helping Seiya survive?
Maybe. But that would only diminish Yamamoto's own dignity.
Would the great Captain-Commander really lose to a century-old genius?
Admitting so… was a bitter humiliation.
As Aizen laid bare their pride, Seiya sat beside Yamamoto and let out a heavy, black misty breath—literal and symbolic exhaustion.
Yama-jii's flames were intense.
Seiya wasn't their original wielder, and wielding them forcibly had damaged his internal organs.
He had forced himself to use another's strength—a martial form of self-harm.
Yet… it worked.
"Yama-jii… did my parting gift meet your expectations?"
Grinning, Seiya asked like it was all a joke.
Yamamoto said nothing. Eyes shut, unmoved.
…Was he sulking?
Maybe. Understandable, really—they weren't on the same side anymore.
The duel was done. The outcome decided.
It was time for Seiya to move on—for Aizen's mission, and for his own.
"Then, if you'll excuse me—"
"If I'd been the one to take you in first…"
Yamamoto's words made Seiya freeze.
Slowly, Seiya turned to him.
The old man had opened his eyes.
His expression held a kind of fatigue, as if shedding the grandeur of a warrior, now just a man of a thousand years.
Gazing at the air, Yamamoto repeated:
"If I had made you my student first… would you have never betrayed the Soul Society?"
No easy answer.
But Seiya felt the weight of that sentiment deeply.
He imagined it:
Wearing a standard shihakushō, training diligently under Yamamoto alongside Shunsui, Ukitake, and Unohana.
Becoming seated in Squad 1.
Rising quickly, earning everyone's trust, becoming vice-captain…
Intertwining fates with noble houses, building bonds—growing, evolving, gaining recognition.
In time, Yamamoto retires.
And Seiya Arima becomes the second Captain-Commander.
He would've had it all.
Fame. Power. Love. Legacy.
Seiya snapped out of the vision. Those weren't memories—they were maybes.
But they felt so real.
He pressed a hand to his face.
Overuse of reiatsu? Residual ability effects?
He didn't know.
But the truth was—he saw what could've been.
If Yamamoto had guided him first.
But life offers no do-overs.
"Sorry, Yama-jii…"
"It's fine."
The elder quickly composed himself.
There was even a tinge of humor in his voice now.
"Just the foolish dreams of a defeated man. The fact you listened this long is already more than I deserve."
"You've surpassed me, Seiya Arima. You are now the strongest in Soul Society."
Strongest… me?
Even Seiya found it hard to believe.
He had dreamed it. Prepared for it. Endured for it.
And now, here it was—real, tangible victory.
He had defeated Yamamoto. And earned his recognition.
Seiya stood and bowed deeply.
"Thank you… for your guidance."
"No need. This was your path to walk."
The tension between them seemed to dissolve with a single glance—like they were once again master and student, training in a quiet dojo.
But reality is harsh.
Yamamoto's face grew serious.
"Whatever you're planning… it's even more dangerous than this."
"The Gotei 13 is merely the surface. You're chasing something far deeper."
He sighed.
"I'm just a soldier. I don't understand your purpose. I don't agree with your path… but I can no longer stop it."
"Go do what you must."
"But before that—release your Zanpakutō."
Yamamoto activated Ryūjin Jakka.
"Use my power. Heal your wounds. The road ahead will only be harder—don't give up."
Seiya blinked, surprised.
Even Yamamoto had moments of gentleness?
"Still standing there?"
He nodded silently.
"Bankai: Eight Aspects of the Heavenly Dragon – Garuda."
With the fire-absorbing powers of Garuda, Seiya used Yamamoto's flames to regenerate.
A new left arm grew. His scorched organs healed.
Like a phoenix reborn in fire, Seiya once again stood at the summit.
Aizen chuckled watching this.
"The raging King has a gentle side too? How rare."
Yamamoto ignored the jab.
Instead, he looked straight at Seiya.
His lips moved slowly.
"Go."
"Do what you must. And…"
"Don't die."
Seiya stepped back, bowed deeply, and turned to walk toward Aizen.
Their eyes met for only a second—but that was enough.
It was time.
With mortal ties severed, they could now head for the Soul King's Palace.
"Nervous?" Aizen asked.
"A little."
"That's human. Never forget it, Seiya-kun."
He raised his hand. Reiryoku surged into the sky.
Everyone tensed.
But none dared act.
With Seiya restored and Aizen unrestrained, none could stand against them.
The sky cracked.
Today—
"The Celestial Dome Falls."
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Powerstones?
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