Chapter 200: The Power of All Things
Gin Ichimaru had endured three deeply unpleasant days.
To be precise, the discomfort had started the moment Sosuke Aizen released him.
Gin had always believed he played his role perfectly, a ruthless viper that could stand beside a monster without flinching. He had watched Aizen commit ugly deeds and never reacted. He had smiled when he should smile, spoken when he should speak, and buried everything else so deep that even he could not touch it without bleeding.
To disguise yourself properly, you had to deceive yourself first.
The boy who once shared persimmons could not remain near someone like Aizen. So Gin became sharp. Vicious. Two faced. He had to look like a silhouette at sunset, split cleanly into light and dark, only then could he keep his hatred alive and clear.
Only then could he remind himself what he was.
But the moment he saw Rangiku's stolen soul returned, the moment the Soul King's fingertips surfaced within the Hogyoku alongside his own long buried dream, something inside him snapped.
He did not find relief.
He could not even find a reason to keep living.
A spring stretched too tightly did not explode, it simply loosened.
And when it loosened too easily, it broke where no one could see.
Gin had worked for a hundred years. He had compressed himself into a thin line of intent, swallowing every thought, every impulse, every scream. He had gambled his life, his future, his eternity, every chip he possessed, just for one outcome.
To drag Sosuke Aizen into hell.
Then, like a cruel joke, the world turned and told him it was all fine now. They were free now. The weight he had carried for a century evaporated in an instant, and the emptiness left behind made him nauseous. He nearly vomited from the sheer wrongness of it.
So he acted immediately.
He kidnapped Rangiku.
He restored her soul to where it belonged.
Then he told her everything.
Not half truths, not careful edits, not the polite lies he had perfected. He spoke of the laboratory, of the years, of the filth he had done with his own hands. He spoke of how he had lived with poison in his mouth and called it loyalty.
Rangiku, naturally, did not want him to keep taking risks. She did not chase some grand happiness built on danger and blood. It was strange. She acted carefree, easygoing, like nothing could hold her down, yet she was the type of woman who wanted to settle, to live a simple life where the future did not involve running from shadows.
When Gin spoke about continuing, she called it dangerous and tried to persuade him to stop.
Over those three days, Gin thought more than he had in years.
He understood something clearly.
In a sense, he could never go back.
His hands were stained with too much blood. His mind had warped around his choices until even his smile no longer belonged to the boy he used to be. Rangiku insisted she did not care, insisted she could accept him, but the words I love you coming from his venomous mouth sent a chill through even her.
Gin did not want her to face that.
He did not want her to be at risk, even if the risk was him.
A snake might not care about what it says, but the snake itself still cared.
So Gin made his decision.
He placed Rangiku under house arrest somewhere safe, somewhere with food and warmth and no reason to worry. He prepared everything she could need, then left her behind.
Not because he hated her.
Because he loved her.
Because he wanted her to live without him becoming a shadow looming over her days.
And because he needed to end his own life properly.
He had done too many wrong things. Now Aizen stood there smiling, apologizing as if nothing had happened, saying he was wrong, saying he would do better, talking about the future with that gentle voice and those calm eyes.
Aizen forgave himself.
Or perhaps he simply did not care.
But Gin cared.
Gin remembered every corpse. Every ruined life. Every hope he had extinguished. He did not have the right to enjoy happiness like a normal person.
If he had anything left to offer, it was a final act.
To drag the monster into hell, if only as a weak attempt at atonement.
What disgusted him even more was what came after.
When Gin smiled and claimed he had reconciled with Rangiku, when he said he wanted to witness Aizen's dream, Aizen responded with a smile and words that made Gin wonder if he had misspoken and exposed himself.
So you still want to kill me, Aizen's attitude had said. The past matters. It's normal you cannot accept it right away.
Then Aizen spoke the part that lit Gin's blood on fire.
Aizen had never believed Gin could let go of his hatred.
In Aizen's view, someone who could hide for a hundred years after his childhood friend was harmed would hide again for his own sake and future. Aizen never truly considered the possibility that Gin would ever reconcile.
That contempt, that absolute certainty, enraged him.
Gin was not someone who wore his emotions openly. He was easygoing by nature. He was the type who could laugh in a storm and call it weather.
But Sosuke Aizen was inhuman.
And yet, after saying those words, Aizen did not become defensive. He did not act awkward. He did not hide anything.
He simply reinstated Gin like it was routine.
He let him study chakra.
He encouraged him to change, to experiment, to evolve.
He even suggested that attacking him, the way Gin had done before, would be ideal.
From beginning to end, Aizen laid everything bare and left Gin to decide.
As if he had plucked Gin off the ground, placed him back on a production line, and walked away.
That was all.
Watching Kaname Tosen stand there in silence, offering welcome without comment, Gin felt like his head would split when he saw Aizen again the next day.
Did this man truly have no sense of propriety, righteousness, or shame?
Even if this was power brought back from the future, did it have to be this inhuman? Could he not at least pretend in a way humans could accept?
Betrayal should have ritual.
Returning should have emotion.
Those were things Aizen had once understood.
So why was Gin the one constantly breaking down, while Aizen calmly strategized without even blinking?
Gin could not understand it.
Then he learned his latest mission.
He was supposed to urge Kurosaki Ichigo into acting faster and prepare him to spread chakra.
Gin realized his opportunity had arrived.
He could not beat Aizen.
But he could beat the kid.
Earlier, he had only used his normal Shikai and played a part. Real captain level combat did not involve casually swinging like a butcher in the street. Every captain had their own lethal specialty, and if you treated them like ordinary opponents, you died.
Gin did not underestimate Ichigo. He remembered clearly how the boy had scarred half of Seireitei with a single gesture, how he wielded an unknown energy that did not belong to this world.
Even with confidence in his own speed and ambush, Gin still had to weigh the situation.
Then he found Ichigo kneading a little clay figure and making it dance.
Gin stood in silence, watching Ichigo and Ganju squat there, gesturing and posing like idiots at a doll that bounced with ridiculous enthusiasm.
He felt like his life was the same as that clay figure.
A joke that kept dancing no matter how hard it was hit.
No matter how diligently he studied, how carefully he adapted, how deeply he tried to understand, Aizen and this Ryoka could still drag him into absurd emotional states with a single choice.
Aizen, fine. World travel. Outrageous, but at least it was outrageous in a way Gin could file under impossible.
Rangiku's soul had returned.
And based on Gin's understanding of Aizen, Aizen probably would not bother eating the same meal twice.
So in a sense, Gin was safe.
There was no problem.
And yet here he was, a captain, forced into conflict with two muddle headed idiots.
Why did his life turn out like this?
Was it all because of Sosuke Aizen?
"Captain Gin Ichimaru?" Ichigo spoke first, unexpectedly calm. "I apologize for what happened three days ago. Aizen told me to do it, he said it would cause a sensation. If it made you uncomfortable, then I'm sorry."
Gin stared.
Do not apologize so humbly, kid.
"Aizen has told me a lot about you too," Ichigo continued. "I'm aware of it. I'm not sure how to judge what he's done, but for now, he can be considered an innovator. At least wait until he accomplishes his goal before attacking."
Gin's smile twitched.
Do not act like you know what I am thinking.
"Oh, right," Ichigo added, as if they were chatting after class. "How about barbecue after the fight? I heard Shinigami actually eat, and you're pretty particular about ingredients."
Gin's eye narrowed.
Looking at Ichigo, who stood there with three small spheres floating behind him like casual guardians, Gin let out a slow breath. His anger had been rising for days, and it was finally cresting.
He stepped out of the shadows, straightened his grip on his sword, and faced Ichigo.
A familiar smile returned to his snake like face, clean and polite.
But what came out of his mouth was venom.
The next instant, a dazzling white flash pierced Ichigo's chest.
The Bankai activated so quickly that dust burst from the ground under the thrust. Under Ganju's horrified gaze, the moon white blade reflected Gin's cold eyes, extending into the smoke as if it had no end.
"In battle," Gin said, voice flat, "there's no one, two, three. There's no good."
His blade remained lodged through the figure before him.
"Consider this advice," Gin continued, "Kurosaki Ichigo."
He stared at the body impaled in the drifting dust, his expression hard, furious.
Furious at the last few days.
Furious at himself.
Furious at Ichigo.
A hot blooded youth who knew nothing about the world had charged headlong into a trap built over centuries. Like an elephant in a porcelain shop, he had smashed through everything fragile, then looked surprised that it broke.
Gin understood that perfectly.
Because this was Aizen's method from the start. Muddy the waters, scatter everyone's sense of direction, leave them confused and frightened.
Gin hated Aizen for it.
And now that hatred had expanded to include Ichigo.
You knew Aizen was a problem, Gin thought. So why did you come here anyway?
Were you so naive you believed you could solve the Soul King system?
Or did you just not understand that humans died when they stepped into a monster's cage?
Gin turned his head slightly, speaking over his shoulder as if giving a casual order.
"Hey. You over there. Call a medic. Give that kid some treatment later."
Ganju did not move.
He stood frozen, face pale, eyes blank, as if his soul had been nailed to the floor.
Gin squinted, tilting his head.
"Oh dear," he murmured. "Are you completely terrified?"
He understood it.
This was likely the first time Ganju had ever witnessed Bankai, maybe the first time he had even grasped what captain level power truly meant. Even hardened thugs in Rukongai did not see this kind of thing, not up close.
Gin's smile sharpened.
He held the endlessly extended sword in one hand and looked at Ganju like he was studying an insect.
"It's fine," Gin said. "You won't die."
His voice turned sweet.
"If you need some pain to calm down, I can help. Left hand, right hand, left leg, right leg, abdomen, chest. Pick one."
He paused as if considering another option.
"Or do you prefer the feeling of bleeding out?"
Ganju remained motionless.
Gin was about to click his tongue and tell him to move when he felt something strange ripple through his blade.
Not a vibration.
More like dissolution.
His eyes shifted, and surprise flickered across his face as the figure pierced on his sword began to break apart, melting through the weapon's presence as if the steel itself could not hold him.
A gap opened.
Wind slipped through.
A moment later, someone stepped out of that gap like they were walking through a curtain.
"…Please don't make things too difficult for him, Captain Ichimaru," Ichigo said.
He was holding the melting blade with one hand, calm.
One of the three spheres behind him had already dissolved into fragments, drifting away like broken light.
Ichigo looked at Gin and smiled, faint but steady.
"After all, battles are something you prepare for in advance."
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