Aizen's Plan
An erudite man, wearing glasses, with a calm and scholarly demeanor—combine these three traits, and there was only one captain in the Gotei 13 who fit the description.
Aizen Sōsuke.
The 4th and 5th Divisions were adjacent, so contact between their captains was nothing unusual. Yet the timing was far too coincidental.
A Hollow Gillian, which hadn't appeared in Soul Society for years, suddenly manifested. Unohana Retsu happened to be nearby, yet Shiraishi still ended up following Aizen's suggestion and went out to confront it.
It was hard not to be suspicious.
"Is something troubling you? Your heartbeat has quickened."
Unohana tilted her head slightly. The way her shoulder brushed his was not flirtatious—simply a matter-of-fact closeness. With her keen perception, she could easily sense the irregular rhythm of his heart.
Combined with her ability to read expressions, she could discern whether Shiraishi was lying. It was a skill she had mastered long ago.
Shiraishi caught himself, forcing a smile.
"It's nothing. I'm just a little jealous of the man who gets to work alongside you and Kotetsu every day. He must be quite fortunate."
It was a lie.
Unohana's almond-shaped eyes curved in amusement, but she chose not to press the point. She had already gathered enough about the man's character through their brief interactions. He wasn't truly malicious—there was even a sense of justice about him.
Yet that very sense of justice might one day place him in opposition to the Shinigami.
As the world's balancers, Shinigami sometimes sided with what appeared to be "evil" in order to maintain equilibrium. If Shiraishi could not understand that… then conflict was inevitable.
But that was for the future.
Rising from the hot spring, water coursing over her pale arms and down her slender frame, Unohana extended a hand toward him.
"Would you like to accompany me to the West 26th District to gather herbs? You never answered."
"Of course. How could I refuse an invitation from a beautiful woman?"
Shiraishi accepted her hand, standing. He wasn't simply captivated by her—he was also curious whether Aizen had already made his move.
If so, based on what he remembered of Aizen from the stories, the man would never act openly. He preferred to operate from the shadows, directing his pawns.
Shiraishi wondered if this would be his chance to measure himself against the power of an Adjuchas… or even one of Aizen's experimental Arrancar.
---
Hueco Mundo — outside Las Noches.
The oval Garganta closed with a hiss as Aizen stepped forward, brown hair falling in neat curls, square-rimmed glasses glinting faintly. The gentle smile he wore in Soul Society was gone—here, in his domain, he had no need for masks. His expression was cold, unreadable.
"Nnoitra—you're staring at the moon again. Another defeat at the hands of the Tres Espada?"
A stone pillar crumbled, crashing down across the endless dunes of white sand. Perched atop the jagged remains sat a tall, lanky figure. His crescent-shaped scythe lay embedded in the ground, chained to his waist, its curved blade glinting in the moonlight.
At Aizen's words, Nnoitra tilted his head lazily.
"Did you come here just to mock me?"
Aizen ignored the rudeness. He never demanded loyalty from the Arrancar—only usefulness.
"I came to assign you a task. A mission in Soul Society."
Nnoitra narrowed his eyes.
"Tch. Didn't you forbid us from showing ourselves there?"
"This is different," Aizen replied smoothly. "There's someone I want you to test."
He produced a small photograph and tossed it forward.
Catching it, Nnoitra looked down at the image: a man with a silver-white ponytail, dressed like someone from the Human World, a Zanpakutō at his waist.
"And what's so special about this guy?"
Aizen adjusted his glasses, his tone calm but deliberate.
"He appeared suddenly in the West Third District four years ago. For three years he was silent, taciturn. Then, without warning, his behavior shifted—proposing to women, gambling with adults, playing with children. A most… curious change."
Nnoitra clicked his tongue. "Spare me the chatter. Why are you interested in him?"
White sand swirled under the pressure of his restless reiatsu.
"Because," Aizen said evenly, "he can conceal his spiritual pressure from me. And not only that—when I masked my own presence, he detected me and attacked in response."
Nnoitra's lips twisted into a fanatic grin.
"Heh. Interesting. Stronger than you, then?"
"No," Aizen corrected. "Weaker. That's what makes it fascinating. How can someone beneath me in power evade my perception?"
His mind replayed the moment. Disguised in a reiatsu-cloaking mantle and kidō concealment, he had retrieved the remnants of Shiba Kaien's body, breaking it down into spirit particles. But as he withdrew, Shiraishi's blade had nearly struck him—reacting as though it were a true Zanpakutō, yet without any detectable spiritual pressure. Only Aizen's mastery of shunpo had spared him from exposure.
Nnoitra clenched the photograph in his fist until it crumbled into fragments.
"Tch. I don't care about mysteries. I just want to kill him."
"That's fine," Aizen said, his smile returning faintly. "Push him to his limits. Either he will break… or he will transcend."
His voice softened, as though amused by the possibilities.
"You'll first rendezvous with Takehiko Tsunayashiro in the West 26th District. He'll provide you a hiding place. From there, the timing of your confrontation will depend on when your presence is discovered."
Nnoitra scowled. "Why bother with all that waiting?"
"Because," Aizen explained, "I am conducting vital experiments. Using captain-class souls as subjects, I am refining Hollowfication—seeking the perfect fusion of Shinigami and Hollow. The Visoreds, the failed prototypes, are sure to be drawn out. For that, I require careful timing."
"Bah. Boring." Nnoitra spat into the sand. "Just killing them would be simpler."
Aizen raised a brow, offering the bait.
"Complete your mission, and upon your return, I will grant you what you crave most: a true battle against Neliel. No restraints, no interference. Life or death."
A hollow laugh escaped Nnoitra's throat. Success or failure, death was always waiting. Still, the prospect stirred something primal in him.
Hoisting his massive weapon onto his shoulder, he asked, "When do I leave?"
Aizen didn't answer directly. Instead, his gaze slid toward another stone pillar.
"Dordoni," he called evenly. "You'll accompany Nnoitra. Leave now."