Bathed in the soft glow of starlight and moonlight, Masatsuki Aozaki stood quietly in place.
His presence was no longer as blinding as before, but now it radiated a calming light—one that people could look upon without fear.
"Captain Aozaki!"
"It really is Aozaki Kenpachi!"
"Captain Aozaki saved us—he truly is the strongest Shinigami!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, their voices filled with admiration and heartfelt gratitude for Masatsuki Aozaki.
"This junior's not bad... I guess I'll begrudgingly acknowledge him,"
Chika Shihōin, Zanpakutō in hand, slowly walked over to Yamamoto and let out a long sigh of relief.
He still felt the urge to swing his blade at the old man, but for now, he managed to suppress it.
Yet before he could finish speaking, his instincts—sharpened through years of brutal combat—screamed out in warning.
Chika Shihōin instinctively shrank back, his face paling slightly.
"Looks like it's all over. We dead folks should be heading back to Hell... I'll go first."
With that, he raised his Zanpakutō, preparing to cut his own throat.
But in the next instant, an overwhelming pressure crashed down on him.
His body trembled violently, and his grip faltered—the Zanpakutō slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground.
Turning around, he saw Masatsuki Aozaki above, gazing down at him with a faint, unreadable smile.
It wasn't just Chika Shihōin—every other Togabito and Jailor who hadn't yet returned to Hell also felt the weight of a crushing force pressing down on them, like a mountain upon their backs.
There was no mistaking it. This was Reiatsu.
Shock spread across the faces of the first-generation captains.
Their own Reiatsu was already leagues above that of ordinary captains, and now, bolstered by the power of Hell, they had ascended to an even greater tier.
And yet... the young man in the sky was suppressing them all with sheer Reiatsu alone.
It was terrifying.
This wasn't something any Shinigami should be capable of.
If the first-generation captains were monsters among Shinigami, then this young man—he was a monster among monsters.
"He's reached such a level…"
Aizen furrowed his brows, glancing at Saizō Sakahone and Kinroku Izuhara, both of whom were gasping for breath.
The pressure radiating from Masatsuki Aozaki distorted the very space around him.
Even though that force wasn't directed at him specifically, Aizen could see the impact it had on the others—the overwhelming power they had just displayed was now being completely suppressed.
From that alone, it was clear: Masatsuki Aozaki's Reiatsu had reached a level far beyond imagination.
Aizen knew there was no comparison to be made.
And deep in his heart, an unfamiliar feeling began to rise—helplessness.
Aizen's eyes were filled with shock and resignation as he muttered with a bitter smile,
"This guy's potential... it's far beyond mine."
He realized that Masatsuki Aozaki's strength had completely exceeded his expectations—perhaps even surpassing his own dimension of power.
The gap was frustrating and bitter, yet it also stirred a sense of anticipation for Masatsuki's future.
...
On the battlefield, everyone instinctively looked up at the sky.
Masatsuki Aozaki's display was so miraculous that many questioned whether they were dreaming.
Even the squad members still locked in battle with the last wave of monstrous enemies—battered, bloodied, and barely staying upright—couldn't help but glance toward the figure in the sky.
Yamamoto stood directly beneath Masatsuki, gazing up at the divine figure above him, his expression dazed.
He wondered silently,
"What the hell happened to this brat?"
That sacred aura felt so natural... it was like standing before the Soul King himself!
And why the hell does he have to shine so brightly?
My old eyes are killing me!
Wait a minute... is this punk doing all this just to show off?
Yamamoto's eyes widened, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
"You brat, get down here!"
He tried to bark, but no sound came out. Receiving treatment from Retsu Unohana, he clicked his tongue in annoyance.
His eyes locked on Masatsuki.
Then he saw that smug brat flash a brilliant smile—and slowly raise both hands.
Now what the hell is he doing?
Yamamoto grumbled to himself.
Does he still have another trick up his sleeve?
As if responding to his thoughts, Masatsuki smiled lightly and raised his hand.
From his sleeves, countless black-and-white Reiatsu-formed arms snaked out like the tentacles of some massive octopus.
With a casual flick of his sleeves, the Reiatsu limbs twisted and writhed like serpents or dragons, surging toward the Jailors and Togabito.
Their speed was terrifying—reaching the enemies in an instant.
Some tried to run, but they found their bodies completely paralyzed under the crushing weight of the Reiatsu.
Pop!
With a dull snap, the Reiatsu arms snapped back violently, and Masatsuki clenched the souls of his screaming targets in an unrelenting grip.
His handsome face remained calm and detached, as if everything unfolding before him had nothing to do with him at all.
"I told you—I'm not letting any of you go."
Masatsuki's voice was cool and emotionless, laced with chilling killing intent.
The Jailors and Togabito had no chance to argue.
As their souls were ripped from their bodies, their consciousnesses plunged into chaos, and their spiritual forms instantly dissolved into dense Reishi—returning to Hell.
...
"Farewell, old friends."
Yamamoto watched the fading Reishi, his face tinged with sorrow and helplessness.
He knew their fates couldn't be changed. All he could do was silently hope they found peace in the next world.
He stood there quietly, Ryūjin Jakka still in hand, barely holding himself upright.
His eyes carried deep exhaustion and helplessness, as if the entire world weighed down upon him.
They were simply gone, leaving behind nothing but scorched ruins.
He looked around at the wreckage, heart heavy with grief and emptiness. The faces he had once known were gone—leaving only him to face the aftermath alone.
His strength felt drained. Leaning back against the damp wall, he slowly slid down to sit on the ground, his chest heaving.
Every breath came hard, like life itself was slipping from his grasp.
...
After several seconds, Yamamoto forced himself upright, trying to muster whatever strength he had left.
He looked up—his eyes meeting those of the Shinigami floating above.
Their gazes locked. For a moment, neither said a word.
Time seemed to collapse in on itself—thousands of years flashing by in an instant.
In the old man's mind, the figure of a long-lost memory slowly began to overlap with the young man before him.
Both had once stood at the center of it all—pillars for others to rely on.
And that young man now… felt so real.
Yamamoto almost forgot that he had spent decades yelling at him, calling him useless.
Now, at last, he understood.
The one standing before him was none other than Masatsuki Aozaki—the legendary hero who had saved the world.
With solemn grace, Yamamoto gave a samurai's salute.
And the young man answered him with a quiet smile.
"Banzai!"
"Captain Aozaki, Banzai!!!"
A tidal wave of cheers surged through the Soul Society, crashing and rising, louder and louder with every shout.