[SCENE — KARAOKE BAR | SHIBUYA | 9:00 PM]
Sora had planned for this—to showcase his magical voice.
To be fair, he was good at everything. Singing included.
Hey, he could be a K-pop idol too. How fun.
Yeah, he'd upload a few singles online once this was done. Get scouted or something.
This would be good for him in the long run.
If someone tried to frame him—unfortunately, Tokinada couldn't do shit since he was, in fact, dead. Alongside his whole bloodline.
But in a universe where he wasn't dead? He would've definitely tried to frame him.
Something, something about him being Aizen's kid and the child of such a scheming person could only be scheming too—some shit like that.
Alongside dragging up the two Shinigami who died because of Sora. That kind of BS.
That version of him had escaped jail since he was smart.
Also, the fact that he was a pop star, a millionaire with a shit-ton of public appearances—by that he meant, way too many people to mindfuck—and millions of people outside Soul Society's jurisdiction.
Not like the witches or any of the other jurisdictions would let Soul Society mindfuck their people.
Plus, they were all his alibis.
And the fact that Byakuya, in fact, did defend him—so he did care.
How soft of him.
Anyway, he had to pull the Soul King into the booth.
(He had to physically pull him, because the Soul King's vibe screamed "ancient monument who moves once every thousand years." Try moving Mount Fuji—same energy.)
Sora shoved the song tablet into his hands and grinned.
"Alright, old man. Pick whatever. No pressure. No judgment. This is a safe space."
The Soul King stared at the tablet like he was downloading the entirety of human musical history in 0.2 seconds.
(His Almighty flickered in his eyes again for a hot second. Cheater.)
He calmly selected a song.
Sora, cocky and smug, sat back, arms stretched across the booth's seat.
He was ready for some disaster-class, soap-opera-wailing, tone-deaf shrieking.
He was not ready.
The music started—a slow, nostalgic ballad.
The first note left the Soul King's mouth—
—and Sora's entire soul left his body.
The voice was deep.
Smooth.
Rich like thousand-year-aged whiskey poured over velvet.
Every word hit perfectly, vibrating in the very marrow of Sora's bones.
It wasn't just singing.
It was divine law being spoken into existence through melody.
The small karaoke speakers could not handle it—the sound warped, the glasses on the booth table shook, and some actual drunkards from the hallway outside stumbled into the booth by accident just to find out what angel had descended from heaven.
Sora gawked.
Mouth wide open. Controller dropping to the floor.
He looked down at the tablet.
Score: 100/100.
The machine even threw confetti animations on screen.
"THE FUCK!?" Sora barked, slapping the table. "WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE THAT GOOD!?"
The Soul King finished his verse with a slight bow, completely humble about the fact he just shattered every major record for 'Karaoke Demigod' status.
Another song queued automatically.
Another perfect, soul-melting performance.
People outside the booth were gathering.
The staff whispered about offering him a record deal.
An old woman in the hallway was openly weeping.
Meanwhile, Sora sat there.
Small.
Defeated.
For the first time in his life, he realized:
There are people more talented than me.
The five stages of grief kicked in at record speed.
Denial: "No, no, this gotta be rigged. Maybe he's using his Almighty to cheat! Yeah, that's gotta be it!"
The Almighty, in fact, did not give people better singing skills.
Anger: "THIS IS BULLSHIT. I CAN SING TOO. WATCH ME."
...He, in fact, could not do better than the Soul King.
Bargaining: "Bro, let's do a duet. I'll pick a song you don't know. Handicap. C'mon. For friendship."
He lost... badly.
Depression: [Sora mumbled something about eating ice cream and never singing again.]
Acceptance: [Sora clapped. Genuinely clapped, because goddamn — respect where respect's due.]
After three more songs (each somehow better than the last), Sora just leaned forward, head against the table, utterly and spiritually cooked.
"...You're gonna have girls throwing themselves at you, old man," Sora muttered into the wood grain. "You're gonna make me look like the ugly friend."
The Soul King, ever the humble divine being, just smiled a small, sincere smile.
"It is... enjoyable," he said.
Sora groaned.
"Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your rockstar arc, you walking TikTok thirst trap."
Also yes, he knew what TikTok was.
Almighty. He could see up to years in the future now.
So he knew he would kill Yhwach if they fought.
No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
No boost in power Yhwach could get would change that fact.
And even if he absorbed the brainless Soul King in Soul Society, that wouldn't change shit.
Sora could still beat his ass.
Sora hadn't realized it back then, but as things stood, he was in fact... the strongest.
100% credit was placed on his Quincy genes.
He shall ignore the 2%-ish percent Shinigami genes that were gifted to him by his other dad.
Huh.
So that's why the thing hit him back then.
Even if both of his parents were pure-blood Quincy, he wasn't.
His genes were mixed—with Shinigami and Soul King DNA.
So.
There was that.