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"How… how did you notice it?"
Aizen's gaze locked on Su Li, disbelief etched in every line of his face.
Only Tōsen Kaname and Ichimaru Gin knew the truth—that he sought the Hōgyoku hidden within the Soul Society. Until now, he had never spoken its name aloud to anyone, never revealed that what he took from Rukia Kuchiki's body was the Hōgyoku itself.
How could Su Li know?
Su Li didn't answer. He simply watched him, his expression calm and unshaken.
Aizen felt those plain, steady eyes burrow into him, his own shifting with unease. Then memory struck.
Forty years ago—before the night a young man came to see him in secret—Su Li had made a trip to the human world. And in that world lived the Hōgyoku's original creator.
"You've been in contact with Urahara Kisuke, haven't you?"
A hint of shock slipped into Aizen's voice despite himself.
"I did a little business with him," Su Li replied with quiet ease.
If Urahara had been here, he would have leapt to his feet in outrage, shouting that "a little business" nearly ended with Su Li seizing his entire former workshop. But Urahara wasn't here.
Aizen exhaled slowly, composure returning as the pieces fell into place. Every unanswered question now had an answer. Su Li had been wary of him for four decades. In all the Soul Society, no one had uncovered his true identity or the depth of his plan. Only Urahara and his exiled comrades had seen the truth. Though they escaped to the world of the living, they had kept watch on him from the shadows.
If Su Li had crossed paths with them, then of course he knew the nature of Kyōka Suigetsu. From that moment onward, every word and gesture the youth had shown him had been an act. An act that had lasted forty years.
"Good acting," Aizen murmured. "Truly well hidden." His tone carried both respect and a trace of resentment.
He had thought he'd seen through Su Li. Now the weight of the deception settled in.
Su Li's faint smile gave nothing away. His knowledge of Aizen's plan had nothing to do with Urahara. From the moment he first opened his eyes in this world, he had known. That was simply the nature of being a spoiler in the story—though that was something Aizen would never be told. Let him draw his own conclusions.
The corner of Su Li's mouth curved slightly. "Each to each," he said quietly.
Aizen's gaze deepened. He had worn a mask for over a century, deceiving the entire Soul Society without a single soul catching on. It was a point of pride. Yet the young man before him had lied to him for forty years without slipping once. A self-proclaimed master of deception, outmaneuvered by a boy.
The thought brought a complex tangle of irritation and reluctant admiration.
Su Li simply stood there, watching, as if admiring a work of art—one he had made himself. Every flicker of emotion on Aizen's face was another stroke in the painting.
But Aizen was still Aizen—the man who stood above the sky. In moments, he smothered all traces of feeling, his gaze returning to cold detachment.
"Su Li, you have surprised me more than anyone I have met," he said evenly. "I admit you are the most troublesome opponent I've faced… but that is all."
His hand rose slowly. With his questions answered and his plan complete, there was little left to discuss.
"Hadō Number Ninety—Kurohitsugi."
"Be careful!" Komamura Sajin barked, his eyes narrowing in alarm. He had been crushed by this spell moments earlier, and the memory made his voice sharp.
Ichigo, Renji, and the others tensed, their eyes wide. They all knew Aizen's attack now was no illusion—Su Li stood outside Kyōka Suigetsu's sway. This was no feint. This was a true strike.
The black walls of spiritual pressure surged around Su Li, enclosing him in a coffin of shadows. But then his voice drifted out, faint yet clear.
"Ahwei's Eighteen Forms—One Strike to the Soul."
A burst of blinding blue light erupted, shattering the coffin's walls and tearing straight toward Aizen. The sheer force of it seemed to choke the air from every lung present.
"I've seen that before…" Sasakibe Chōjirō murmured, eyes dark with memory. "It's even more fearsome than last time."
Komamura's own face tightened in grim agreement.
The beam of light hurtled forward, searing through the air. Aizen's eyes narrowed, his expression finally hardening. He raised his arm to block.
The impact detonated in an ear-splitting roar. A hurricane of raw force ripped across the hill.
"Hey! Don't pull my—mouth—ahhh!" Renji clung to his Zanpakutō, driven halfway into the ground, shouting as he fought not to be swept away. Ichigo had both hands on Renji's face, his own body spinning in the gale like a rag doll.
"You think I like this?!" Ichigo yelled back, spitting in disgust. "Where did you even get this much saliva—gross!"
Behind them, Sasakibe and Byakuya held their ground, one knee down, Zanpakutō driven deep into the earth. They endured the wind with controlled discipline, shaken but steady.
Komamura, massive and rooted, did not so much as sway.
Gradually the beam faded, its radiance dwindling, and the howling wind eased to stillness.
When the dust cleared, Aizen stood in the open once more.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The sleeve of his right arm was gone, vaporized. His bare forearm was scorched dark red, steaming faintly, blood dripping from his palm to stain the earth at his feet.
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