Slap!
A sharp crack split the air. Aizen's arm severed cleanly, falling to the ground with a dull thud. The detached limb twitched faintly, still pulsing with residual life as it writhed on the dust.
Aizen stared at it in silence. Once, his arm had been torn apart by a boy with a single finger. And now, again—by another boy.
Countless thoughts erupted within him, memories rushing through his mind like a storm: the years of plotting, the betrayal of Soul Society, the defiance of heaven itself—all to end up here, neither man nor Shinigami, neither god nor ghost.
Was it worth it?
He could no longer answer that question. There was no turning back now. All that remained was battle—until the boy before him fell, until his strength gave out. Then, victory would be his.
Yes, victory.
No matter how powerful this child had become, no matter how unpredictable his movements, in the end Aizen would win. He had merged with the Hōgyoku. He was immortal. His power was limitless.
As long as he endured, victory was inevitable.
Confidence flickered again in his gaze.
"Ah…" A low hum escaped his lips as a new arm began to form beneath his shoulder, flesh and muscle weaving together seamlessly.
The sight drew silence from the onlookers.
"How… how is that even possible…"
Ichigo's pupils contracted, his mind blank. Moments ago, he had watched the battle between Su Li and Aizen unfold—a clash of titans far beyond his comprehension. Su Li had managed to destroy Aizen's arm, a feat Ichigo could barely fathom. But before their eyes, that very arm regenerated as if nothing had happened.
How could one fight that? How could one win?
Ichigo's heart sank. He wanted to help Su Li—wanted desperately to stand beside him. But with his current strength, it was laughable to even imagine joining their battle. A single step forward into Aizen's suffocating Reiatsu nearly made him faint.
He clenched his fists in frustration.
The image of a hero, the "Protector of Karakura Town"—what a cruel joke.
"Damn it… every time… every single time…"
"Every time I have to rely on Su Li…"
Ichigo's vision blurred, his chest tightening as his throat burned. He had never hated himself so much. Time and again, he was the one being saved—on Sōkyoku Hill, during the Arrancar invasion, even at the gates of Las Noches. Always Su Li. Always behind him.
"Damn it… hate… hate… hate…"
Hot tears traced down Ichigo's cheeks.
"I just wanted… to surpass him… to thank him… not depend on him again…"
The tall boy's shoulders shook as he cried openly, his sobs raw and unrestrained. Renji turned away slightly, his shoulders trembling, while Rukia watched quietly beside him. They understood too well what he felt.
"...Ichigo…" Orihime whispered, eyes full of worry.
Renji's voice broke through, rough but steady. "Straighten your back."
"If you call yourself a man."
He didn't turn around. He knew this pain—the humiliation of weakness, the burning will to change.
"Try harder," Renji said, his voice low but unwavering. "Keep running, even if you can never reach the hem of his coat."
The words fell heavy, carrying both warning and hope.
Then came a deep voice that froze everyone.
"As a man of the Kurosaki family, you can't let yourself fall apart like this."
Kurosaki Isshin stood before them.
"Dad…" Ichigo's eyes widened in disbelief.
He had never imagined that his father—the goofy, loud man who ran a clinic—was a Shinigami.
Isshin didn't meet his son's eyes at first. Instead, he gazed at the white-haired figure battling Aizen in the distance, a trace of emotion flashing through his expression before he looked back at Ichigo.
"With the way you are now," Isshin said plainly, "you'll never catch up to him. Not in this lifetime."
Ichigo's heart clenched. Even his own father was denying him.
But Isshin continued, "However… if you're willing to work for it, I know a way."
Ichigo blinked, stunned.
"Now, you're useless in this fight," Isshin said firmly, "but if you come with me… we can change that."
He looked directly into his son's eyes, waiting.
Ichigo stood frozen for a moment, then slowly wiped away his tears. Determination replaced despair.
"Alright," he said. "I trust you, Dad."
A smile curved across Isshin's face.
Smack!
He struck Ichigo's forehead with an open palm.
"That's the spirit of the Kurosaki men!"
Ichigo winced, scowling. "Ow! Seriously?!"
But before he could retort, the air before them split open—a Kōryū boundary gate unfurling like a yawning maw.
Isshin's voice was calm. "Let's go."
Ichigo hesitated, then stepped forward. Even without knowing where his father would take him, he was ready. No matter what hell awaited—mountains of blades, seas of fire—he would go.
He entered the gate. Isshin followed. Slowly, the portal sealed shut behind them.
Rukia, Renji, and Orihime stood frozen, eyes fixed on the empty space where the two had vanished.
Where were they going? None could guess.
But there was no time to ponder—Aizen's voice cut through the silence.
"You can sever my limbs, so what?" His tone was calm, almost amused. "I can regenerate infinitely. My power has no limit."
His gaze turned downward, cold and disdainful. "What about you? How long can your body endure?"
Sweat gleamed on Su Li's forehead. Aizen's smile widened.
"Damn him!" Omaeda shouted, trembling with fury. Around him, the faces of the Gotei captains and lieutenants were twisted in frustration and fear.
Everyone knew the truth—Su Li's stamina, no matter how vast, had limits. Aizen's did not.
Even the kanji for "Twelve" on Su Li's back was stained white with salt from his sweat. His haori was soaked and dried over and over, each breath heavy and labored.
"Su Li…" Sui-Feng's voice cracked, her eyes red and wet again. She'd cried more times today than she could remember—and always for him.
"Please… hold on…" she whispered.
Her words wavered, not as encouragement but as a desperate prayer.
Aizen's words echoed in everyone's minds: The boy's strength will fade. Mine will not.
No one spoke.
Even Kyoraku Shunsui, who always hid behind lazy smiles, knelt slowly, his hat shadowing his face.
Urahara Kisuke stood motionless, eyes dim with regret. His sealing techniques had failed. Without them, he was powerless.
The battlefield was silent. The boy still stood—but defeat already weighed heavy in everyone's hearts.
Then, quietly, Su Li spoke.
"Ah… I'm a little tired."
His voice was light, like a breeze cutting through stagnant air.
"The truth is, I can't think of a way… to end this in one move."
He smiled faintly, wiping the sweat from his brow. Aizen frowned. That smile—clean, calm, and unshaken—felt wrong. Ominous.
"At first, I thought humiliating you would do it," Su Li said softly. "But you're not that fragile after all."
He flexed his fingers lightly.
Aizen's eyes narrowed. Fighting a boy who used only half a finger—was there any insult greater?
"But using this style conserves stamina," Su Li continued. "Lets me fight longer."
He crouched slightly, warming his joints again.
Aizen's expression stiffened as realization struck. The boy hadn't used one finger out of arrogance—but efficiency.
"What a pity," Su Li muttered. "Such a good sandbag… and I can't even hit it with full strength."
Aizen's gaze darkened.
"Hmph. Use whatever trick you want," he sneered. "When your body gives out, the result will be the same. You'll fall before me."
Su Li tilted his head, almost playfully. "Actually, I don't think we need to wait for that seal to trigger…"
Aizen's brows furrowed.
"I should've realized it earlier," Su Li said softly. "Only something beyond rules can destroy the rules themselves."
His tone dropped, quiet and cold. "There are some things I can do myself. Why rely on others?"
He smiled—a calm, disarming smile that only made the unease in Aizen's chest surge to its peak.
Slowly, Su Li raised a single finger. A strange black light shimmered at its tip.
Rukia blinked. "What… what's that? There's a black mark on Aizen's back…"
Renji squinted, then gasped, eyes wide. "That's… a fingerprint!?"
Indeed—upon Aizen's back was a single, dark fingerprint.
Aizen, who could regenerate infinitely, bore the mark of another's touch. And that could mean only one thing—
Boom!
Su Li vanished.
Aizen's pupils contracted. The boy's speed—instantaneous, impossible to follow even for him.
A single glowing fingertip pressed gently against Aizen's chest.
Su Li's movements were smooth, deliberate—almost scholarly. The black light on his fingertip traced downward like ink flowing from a brush.
One clean stroke. A mark in the shape of the numeral "1."
The ink gleamed, then solidified—black and unyielding, as though carved into eternity.
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