Chapter 179: Seireitei, Soul Society, and Aizen
It had to be said, Ichigo Kurosaki had an exceptional circle of friends.
They were the kind of friends Aizen Sosuke would envy, no matter which world he came from.
Identity did not change their bond. Labels did not bend it. Even without fully understanding what each of them truly was, Shinigami, Quincy, Fullbring, or something else entirely, they still respected one another's dignity. They accepted what they could not explain, and when the world failed to match their expectations, they did not lash out in resentment. Instead, they expressed themselves through choice, through action, through the quiet stubbornness of youth.
Even this dinner was proof.
Aizen had invited the group to a high end restaurant, but the children were not fools. They realized quickly enough that his invitation had likely been meant only for Ichigo and Rukia. So they each made up excuses, clumsy and transparent, and left without hesitation. No lingering. No eager smiles. No attempt to curry favor.
It was the sort of pride that belonged to students, the kind of arrogance that could still be called clean.
In Seireitei, the opposite was considered virtue.
There, etiquette and ingratiation were survival. No Shinigami, no matter how relaxed they appeared, truly ignored rank. Even Kyoraku Shunsui, a noble by blood and a man who wore laziness like perfume, rarely violated the unspoken rules of manners.
The Central Forty Six existed to grind that hierarchy into people's bones. Seniority. Status. Obedience. The structure was meant to be so natural that no one would even think to question what lay above it.
That was why Rukia, even as a Kuchiki, still bowed to the captain of the Fifth Division. And it was also why a captain like Aizen was expected to uphold the aristocratic order.
The system looked chaotic, backward, contradictory. Yet internally it was a perfect blend of mysticism and conservatism, designed to keep dangerous curiosity from ever being born.
But perfect systems only remained perfect when people enforced them.
A system that could not exist without human hands was, by nature, imperfect.
And where there were people, there would always be subtle distortion.
Corruption.
Depravity.
Becoming something you never wanted to see.
"Really?" Aizen asked, fork pausing over his plate. "Ichigo is still at the top of his class? He fights Hollows and still studies. He's remarkable."
Rukia straightened, too stiff for a restaurant, too formal for a table. "You flatter him. I am truly sorry that Kurosaki was dragged into this due to my mistake, Captain Aizen."
"It's fine," Aizen said, waving awkwardly. "Didn't I already say my status is similar to yours? We are all criminals right now."
"How could that be?" Rukia insisted. "A captain is a captain. Subordinates must respect their superiors."
Aizen's smile tightened, as if he had bitten into something too tough.
From the outside, it would have looked absurd.
A blond teenager sat back with a bored expression, tapping his foot under the table, while a high school girl in a short skirt bowed again and again, speaking like she was addressing a noble matron.
At the center, Aizen did not scold her or use her manners to humiliate her. He only waved, awkward and faintly tired, trying to stop it.
Rukia refused to be stopped.
Aizen understood why.
She was the adopted daughter of the Kuchiki, brought back by Byakuya's single decision. She held herself to the same standards as her brother because she believed she had to. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she was still born in Rukongai, which meant that to many nobles she would always be unclean.
The harder she worked, the more she reminded them of what they despised.
So she used politeness like armor. She used formality like proof of worth.
It was the cruel rule of this world. You were forced to do what you hated, and then others twisted it until you became something unrecognizable.
But to Ichigo, it was simply wrong.
Rukia, as he knew her, was loud, lively, stubborn, curious. She had her own pride. Seeing that same girl bow and scrape before a so called captain, seeing her dignity pressed into the floor by invisible chains, made Ichigo's chest tighten with irritation.
He did not have words for it. He only knew he disliked it.
And in truth, Ichigo's later ability to cooperate with Soul Society had always been built on coincidence and manipulation.
When he had broken into Seireitei under Aizen's surveillance and fought captains under Aizen's guidance, he had accumulated anger and hostility. Then Aizen's revelation in the sky turned that hatred into guilt and unease. As truths surfaced and misunderstandings cleared, the heavy weight of Seireitei's rules never truly landed on Ichigo. In some sense, his smooth alignment with Soul Society had been made possible by Aizen's hand.
Otherwise, with Ichigo's personality, a boy who could not even bear to see a cat die, what would he have thought if he had truly witnessed Rukongai being cleaned out by Shinigami blades?
He had not lingered there. Urgency drove him forward. He rushed to the Shiba, rushed into Seireitei, rushed into battle. Even after everything ended, when he sensed something wrong, he stayed quiet for the sake of friendship.
Then came the explanations. The balance of the three realms. The pressure. The reality that the corrupt system still maintained the world.
What could a high school student do?
Later, he became a hero. Later, he had a life. Later, he had a family. The nobles remained. The chain remained. The system did not move.
But now was different.
No emergency decree.
No war.
No Aizen's guidance shaping every step.
Rukia was here, laughing with him in the human world, not a comrade in a life or death battle, but a friend. And that was why the sudden shift, the way she became a servant in front of someone else, felt like being slapped awake.
It made Ichigo angry, and he did not even know who to blame.
Aizen tried to stop it, which only made it stranger. This was not pressure from above. This was Rukia choosing her chains.
"Haha," Aizen said at last, surrendering with a tired smile. "It seems I'm not good at persuading people. Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi, the Forty Six, and now you, Rukia."
Rukia remained unwavering.
"As Byakuya's sister, I have a responsibility," she said, stubborn as stone.
Ichigo's jaw tightened.
It was like watching your closest friend suddenly kneel in the street to a passing sedan chair, bowing again and again, and no matter what you said, he insisted it was correct. Worse, he tried to drag you down with him.
You wanted to know where your friend went, what happened to the person you knew, but you could only swallow it and sit there with that suffocating tightness in your chest.
Aizen finally stopped trying.
He turned his gaze to Ichigo instead, smiling with practiced warmth, and extended his hand across the table.
"Well then," he said. "Let's properly meet. I am Sosuke Aizen, and this is the first time I have met you in person, Ichigo Kurosaki."
Ichigo blinked. "Huh?"
Even Rukia froze.
That phrasing was wrong. It sounded as if Aizen had met Ichigo somewhere else, somewhere not real. And Rukia certainly did not remember anything like that.
Before she could ask, Aizen looked at her with sudden seriousness.
"There is something private I need to discuss with Ichigo. I would like you to keep an eye on Shizune for me."
"Yes," Rukia replied instantly, still confused, still obedient.
Then she vanished.
The restaurant, which had been lively only moments ago, began to empty as well. The crowd drifted away in unnatural smoothness, guided by subtle medicine Aizen had acquired through Kisuke, something meant to repel civilians and clear the space.
Soon the room was silent.
Rukia stood at the door, ignoring Ichigo's pleading look. She closed the sliding door with deliberate calm.
Inside, only the delicate sound of Aizen's knife cutting through steak remained.
"Won't you eat?" Aizen asked, as though they were old acquaintances. "This conversation may take some time. The steak here is excellent, tender, smooth, the texture is perfect."
Ichigo did not touch his plate. "Let's make it quick. I don't like leaving Rukia waiting outside."
"That's fair," Aizen said, almost amused. "She is stubborn. Other divisions emphasize hierarchy, but I have never liked it. I believe communication should be equal. Don't you?"
Ichigo stared at him, silent.
Aizen sighed lightly, then raised his hands in a small gesture of surrender. "All right. Serious matters, then."
He adjusted his glasses, expression composed, posture refined, like a man preparing to recite a confession.
And then he said something that nearly made Ichigo choke on air.
"Ichigo Kurosaki, in a way, I am your godfather."
Ichigo's head snapped up. "What?"
"It may be rude to say it so suddenly," Aizen continued calmly, "but without me, your father and mother would not have met. I have also been concerned with your affairs for a long time. I have been observing you."
Ichigo's skin crawled. "What are you talking about? Godfather? Watching me?"
"This story is long," Aizen said, unbothered. "But I have been demoted, so I have time. You are curious about Soul Society, and about yourself. I can explain both. It benefits us both."
"…I am curious," Ichigo admitted, voice tight.
His disgust did not disappear, but Ichigo was kind by nature. He was the type who struggled to refuse a request, especially when it involved things he cared about. And this involved too much. Soul Society. Rukia. His family.
So he swallowed his irritation and forced himself to listen.
Still, confusion churned in his mind.
He was ordinary. His family was ordinary. His father was just a ridiculous man who liked to attack him at home. His sisters could vaguely sense Hollows, and he had spiritual awareness, but that was it.
There was nothing about his life that sounded like it deserved a godfather.
Ichigo leaned forward slightly. "Then start there. Why are you my godfather? This is the first time we've met, right?"
He hesitated, then added with blunt suspicion, "Also, you don't look that much older than me. Do all Shinigami look young and act young while being ancient?"
"That is mostly true," Aizen said, nodding. "I am several hundred years old. Shinigami generally remain near their peak. Appearance changes slowly."
"I see."
Aizen placed his fork down.
Then he stood.
Ichigo tensed, expecting arrogance, expecting condescension, expecting the same formal superiority Rukia had been showing.
Instead, Aizen bowed, deeply, with a seriousness that had nothing to do with rank.
It was not the bow of a superior demanding respect.
It was the bow of a man apologizing.
Ichigo froze. "What are you doing?"
Aizen's voice was quiet. "Before anything else, there is something I must apologize to you for."
Ichigo's stomach sank. "Huh?"
Aizen lifted his head, guilt visible in his eyes, and the first thing he said shattered the table like a blade.
"In truth, I bear great responsibility for your mother's death."
Ichigo's pupils constricted.
"…What did you say?"
"Yes," Aizen said, and his calm only made it worse. "Your mother's death, your current state, even your father's seal, they are largely tied to my immature actions back then. So I want to apologize. I am truly sorry, Ichigo Kurosaki."
He bowed again, even deeper.
"But understand this," Aizen continued, voice steady and sincere. "Your mother's death was not part of my plan. Normally, she should not have died that way."
Ichigo's hands went numb.
His mind felt like it had been struck by a dozen heavy blows, stars bursting behind his eyes.
He stared at the man before him, mouth open, unable to form words.
"What… are you talking about…?"
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