Chapter 109 - CHAPTER 109:Blood Debt!

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The moment Hinamori Momo reached the final line of the letter, an invisible force seized her breath and twisted it into something ragged and shallow, her heart recoiling so violently that it felt as if her ribcage had shattered inward, her body locking in place under the crushing weight of grief that had sharpened into a spear of pure dread and driven itself into her spine without mercy. Her wide, disbelieving eyes skimmed the parchment gripped in her trembling hands, and though her expression remained deceptively blank, her body quaked from within, the paper caught between her fingers fluttering like a dying bird's final attempt to escape the ground.

Not even in her most dreadful imaginings—those long, hollow nights where the silence pressed in too tightly and her thoughts grew dark and untrustworthy—had she ever conceived that the name written at the bottom of Aizen's final letter would be anything but that of a distant betrayer, a villain whose treachery echoed from the edges of logic. Certainly not someone whose face she remembered from across shared meals and training grounds, not someone whose quiet steps had once matched hers beneath the moonlight at Shinō Academy, not someone who had lived, breathed, and bled beside her as they carved their way toward the honor of wearing a haori.

Tōshirō had warned her, speaking with that low, careful voice he used when concern was disguised as formality, urging her to brace her heart and temper her expectations before confronting a truth she might find unbearable—but she, in her desperation to believe in her instincts, had clung instead to the far more comfortable illusion that Gin Ichimaru, the ever-grinning snake whose very presence invited suspicion, was the only possible traitor in Aizen's shadow.

To accept any other truth would mean pulling apart the tapestry of her memories thread by fragile thread, unraveling the very foundation of the past she had built her loyalties upon, and facing the unbearable possibility that what she once trusted had always been stained by deception. She would have to challenge the image of cadet Su Li—the boy who trained in measured silence beside her, who shared not conversation but acknowledgment, and who stood not as friend or foe, but as someone solidly, maddeningly inscrutable beneath the star-strewn skies of the academy courtyard.

There had always been something different about Su Li, a remoteness not rooted in arrogance or ambition, but in a depth that eluded comprehension, as if every glance from his eyes reached far beyond the battlefield and into an ocean of silence no one else could fathom. And yet, for all his distance, never once had she felt malice radiate from him, never once had she seen the gleam of cruelty that so often marked those who burned for power or glory. His quietude had seemed to her a form of discipline, his silence a kind of inner control, not a mask hiding treachery.

So when doubt whispered, she silenced it. When logic raised its voice, she refused to hear it. She had chosen to believe in anything, anyone, other than him.

But now, the letter in her hands refused to fade like a bad dream, its ink too dark, its words too final, its truth cutting through the haze of her disbelief like the crack of a whip. Aizen's last confession had written Su Li's name into a ledger that no loyalty could erase, and with each syllable, the fragile dam she had built within herself collapsed in on itself, unleashing not sorrow, but something fiercer.

What surged forth was not the pain of betrayal alone, but the fury of someone who had lost more than a leader—someone who had been forced to doubt her own judgment, to confront her own blindness, and to recognize that what she thought was unthinkable had not only happened, but had been standing beside her the entire time. Her hatred bloomed—violent, molten, and absolute—consuming her grief, drowning her confusion, and forging something far more enduring: resolve.

Everything Tōshirō had hinted at with careful restraint now rushed at her like a storm, undeniable and clear. Su Li and Gin Ichimaru were not two aberrant events in Soul Society's timeline—they were parts of the same design, molded by precision, sharpened in silence, and wrapped in masks that deceived both enemies and allies. One wielded charm like a dagger dipped in honey, while the other moved like winter itself—silent, patient, and deadly.

The same eerie calm lingered in both men. The same eerie stillness before destruction. The same terrifying composure of those who had already buried every trace of their humanity beneath the cold weight of calculation.

Gin Ichimaru. Su Li. Different faces, identical truths.

Her body, no longer numbed by denial, began to tremble under the certainty that now pumped through her like venom through a fractured vein. Her fingers coiled into fists so tightly that the skin whitened over her knuckles, her teeth grinding against the scream rising up her throat, until finally it exploded from her lips—not a whimper, not a plea, but the name of the one she once trusted.

"Su Li… Su Li!!"

Her voice cracked the air like lightning, raw and filled with a grief transformed into vengeance, her gaze ignited with red-veined fury that refused to mourn anymore.

With a breath so deliberate it felt carved from stone, she folded the letter with reverence that trembled but never faltered, creasing each fold as though shaping a funeral prayer, and placed it neatly at the threshold of her cell—Seireitei's forgotten wing, left unguarded in the disarray of chaos. No soul watched the door. No guard remained. The oversight was fatal.

Raising her hand, she summoned power with a singularity of intent that made the very walls quiver.

"Hadō #33: Sōkatsui."

The blue fire erupted not like a spell, but like a judgment, roaring from her palm and smashing into the barrier with explosive fury. The spiritual seals cracked, fractured, and disintegrated beneath the weight of her will alone.

She stepped through the breach with purpose burning into every motion, no longer a prisoner of grief but a hunter guided by vengeance.

"I'm coming for you," she whispered between clenched teeth, her voice forged from fire, her oath no longer broken by pain but strengthened by it. "You'll answer for Captain Aizen."

What sorrow once shackled had burned away, leaving behind something honed, sharpened, and lethal—a blade made of memory, rage, and retribution.

---

Nightfall had wrapped Seireitei in a shroud thick with silence, veiling the wounded city in shadows that refused to shift or breathe. Above, stars blinked through the darkness, reflecting in the still waters of the lake near District 660, a mirror of the world's uneasy calm—too pristine to trust.

The sounds of war had faded, and in their absence came a silence so total it felt like the universe itself held its breath, waiting for the next disaster to unfold.

At the lake's edge, a single figure stood unmoving, arms folded behind his back, the white of his haori untouched by the cold breeze that stirred the grass but dared not touch him. Su Li's posture was that of a man carved from stone, yet the stillness around him was not peace—it was tension manifest, a weight that disturbed even the air by merely existing.

Time crawled until another presence broke through the quiet, descending like an autumn leaf too heavy with purpose.

Hitsugaya Tōshirō landed beside the water, his stance rigid, his gaze sharp with mistrust, and though small in stature, the spiritual weight he carried churned beneath the surface like an iceberg preparing to break.

He didn't speak right away. For several heartbeats, he simply stood there, watching Su Li's back as though searching for movement, expression, or anything that might reveal the thoughts of the man who had unnerved the entire Seireitei with his silence.

And when he finally did speak, his voice held the bitter edge of ice drawn too long across steel.

"Didn't expect to find you here—standing still while everything falls apart."

Su Li's response came not with defiance, not even with curiosity, but with a calm so absolute it chilled the air.

"Before the storm arrives, it's wise to savor the stillness."

Hitsugaya's brows pulled together, his grip tightening on Hyōrinmaru's hilt, and his reiatsu rippled outward with silent fury.

"This storm you're building won't reach Seireitei. We'll end it before it begins."

"Perhaps," Su Li replied, his voice neither conceding nor resisting, simply existing like frost—quiet, unbreakable, and cold.

Tōshirō's frustration roiled beneath his skin, the unease gnawing at him growing with every word unspoken. He couldn't act, not yet, not without Central 46's judgment, but his instincts screamed that the man standing before him wasn't just dangerous—he was the fault line waiting to crack the world.

Zaraki Kenpachi's been defeated," Tōshirō said.

"I know," came the reply—not as surprise, not even acknowledgment, but as a statement of fact—as though Su Li had not merely heard the news, but predicted it.

Tōshirō ground his teeth, struggling to maintain control as he pressed further. "So your allies are stronger than we expected."

"They're sufficient," Su Li said, with no pride, no anger, no remorse—just calculation.

It was the indifference that set Hitsugaya's blood boiling.

"What are you trying to do?" he finally demanded, unable to suppress the weight of betrayal any longer. "Is there anything left in you that remembers what we were?" But Su Li did not reply.

The silence returned, vast and suffocating, until the tension shattered with a sudden gust—swift, blazing, unrelenting, as a blur sliced through the space between them and Hitsugaya's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Hinamori?!" he called, as she stepped forward, her eyes ignited with something no longer soft, her movements sharp, her entire body humming with rage transfigured into purpose.

"You were confined. You're not supposed to be here," he tried, but she didn't answer, her gaze never wavering, her focus only Su Li.

"Su Li," she breathed, her voice splintering under the weight of heartbreak turned to fury, "I found you," and her blade slid from its sheath, steady despite the tremor in her limbs.

"Hinamori—don't!" Hitsugaya shouted, but she was beyond the reach of warnings now.

"I doubted it. I tried to believe in you. But the letter was enough. You killed him. You betrayed all of us. You're worse than Ichimaru ever was," she said, her blade rising as her voice broke, then steadied, "Bloom—Tobiume!"

A wave of fire bloomed like a spring storm, pink and violent, her spiritual pressure erupting in raw intensity, and with a cry, she released the attack—a searing orb of flame hurtling forward, filled with the weight of her broken faith.

But it never reached him, as a figure intervened, a shockwave ruptured the spell, and when the smoke parted, she gasped—not Su Li, but someone else.

Sui-Fēng.

Captain of the Second Division. Commander of the Onmitsukidō. Blade of absolute precision.

Hitsugaya's breath caught. "Sui-Fēng?!"

Hinamori staggered, stunned that even justice had turned against her—but she refused to surrender.

"Hadō #12: Fushibi! Kyakko—Bakudō #26!" she shouted, as her flames vanished—and so did she.

A blink later, she reappeared, striking from Sui-Fēng's blind spot, but precision met her with devastating speed, and in an instant, Hinamori fell.

Sui-Fēng loomed above, prepared to finish it, but Hitsugaya intervened—a wall of ice splitting the air, his sword blocking her strike. "Have you lost your mind?!" he roared, but even as the question hung in the air, Sui-Fēng's body wavered, her strength gone as she collapsed.

Su Li caught her, his arms steady, and finally turned to face them.

Before another word could be spoken, a third voice rang out across the battlefield, desperate and familiar: "Captain Hitsugaya! Captain Su Li! Please—stop this madness!"

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