The white-haired man lay in a pile of rubble, struggling to lift his head as blood seeped from his mouth. A sense of disbelief washed over him.
His silk-threaded armor, along with the Zanpakutō that covered his right arm like a gauntlet, had been completely shattered and fallen away. His body fared no better.
A gaping, bloody hole had torn through his abdomen, his internal organs nowhere to be found.
And Masatsuki Aozaki had done it all with his bare hands.
The white-haired man's mouth hung open in shock. He panted heavily, his face twisted in panic and fear.
Seeing the extent of his injuries, Masatsuki Aozaki relaxed slightly. He rolled his shoulder, wincing at the pain, and let out a sharp hiss before grinning.
"Looks like you're in bad shape. I really did go all out, but I still couldn't shatter your body with a single hit."
"As expected, I'm still nowhere near Master's level."
The white-haired man let out a muffled groan, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
Bracing a hand against the ground, he slowly pushed himself back until he was leaning against a nearby wall, slumping down to sit.
"...The Captain-Commander's Sōkotsu truly lives up to its name. I never imagined it could be so terrifying."
He tried to maintain a steady tone, but the tremor in his voice betrayed the truth—
Pain.
Excruciating pain, teetering on the edge of life and death.
With a hole torn through his gut, an ordinary Shinigami would've died instantly.
If not for his captain-level physique, which was far more resilient than that of a regular Shinigami—even without rigorous training—he'd have been long gone.
"Well, knowing how powerful Master is, you still dared to come and assassinate me?" Masatsuki Aozaki blinked. "Should I be impressed by your courage?"
The white-haired man took a deep breath, speaking with difficulty. "There are things in this world that someone has to do."
Masatsuki Aozaki scoffed. "That kind of noble talk doesn't suit you."
They knew each other too well.
Sure, he had done plenty of questionable things. But these guys were no saints either.
"No, this isn't some noble sentiment." The white-haired man sneered, shaking his head.
"What I mean is, this world is full of ambitious people."
"Some are cowards, too afraid of the Captain-Commander's power to make a move."
Masatsuki Aozaki raised an eyebrow. "And you're saying you're not afraid of the old man?"
"I am. But my ambition outweighs my fear. I want to rise above everyone else—I want to become a noble."
As if the pain no longer mattered, the white-haired man laid his ambitions bare, his final act of defiance.
"So I came. My ambition triumphed over my fear. I stood before you, and I have no regrets."
He let out a wild laugh before suddenly shifting his tone.
"Masatsuki Aozaki, geniuses like you are truly enviable."
"Even Captain-Commander Yamamoto—hailed as the strongest Shinigami in a thousand years—values you so highly. It's enough to make anyone jealous."
"But unfortunately for you, luck is on my side. The one who dies here today—won't be me."
Masatsuki Aozaki shrugged.
"Oh? Still hiding a trump card?"
"You're barely holding yourself together. What else could you possibly do?"
"Even if you've mastered Bankai, you're in no condition to use it."
At those words, the white-haired man shook his head.
"I never intended to use Bankai."
"But… do you remember the two I let go?"
Masatsuki Aozaki froze. A chill ran down his spine before he abruptly leaped backward.
Looking up, he spotted a trident embedded in the ground.
There wasn't just one attacker.
And whoever they were, the white-haired man was confident they could take down two mid-to-high-ranking Seated Officers with ease.
The white-haired man clutched at his nonexistent stomach, his voice low and strained as he chuckled.
"Not bad. You still have some fight left in you. But how much Reiryoku do you have left? And how long can you keep running?"
A shadowy figure in black flickered into view, appearing beside the white-haired man and yanking the trident from the ground.
"Rentarō, why is the target still alive? What's taking you so long?"
"I should be asking you that, Takasugi. You sure took your time. Why did it take you so long to deal with those two Seated Officers?"
Seeing a sliver of hope, the white-haired man—Rentarō—gritted his teeth and forced a smile, though resentment still simmered beneath the surface.
If Takasugi had arrived sooner, he wouldn't have ended up in this pathetic state.
"I ran into a little trouble."
Takasugi scanned the area, his expression grave. When his eyes landed on Masatsuki Aozaki, his shock was beyond words.
"Hm? What the hell happened to you? You're a mess."
Though their target was also bloodied, it was obvious that Rentarō had taken the worse beating. Without immediate treatment, he might not survive.
Takasugi knew Rentarō's strength.
A standard captain-level Reiatsu.
But wasn't Masatsuki Aozaki supposed to have just graduated from the Shin'ō Academy? Wasn't he only in his early twenties?
Since when were kids this terrifying?
"This brat isn't normal. Every one of these wounds—he gave them to me," Rentaro said grimly. "But after fighting me, he's running on fumes. He barely has any Reiryoku left."
"With your strength, killing him shouldn't be a problem!"
Rentarō's voice brimmed with confidence, but Takasugi only gave him a sidelong glance, making no move.
He had lived for centuries, and if there was one thing experience had taught him, it was that teammates calling themselves "seriously injured" were rarely as helpless as they claimed.
Hell, he'd seen plenty of fellow soldiers—and rivals—die on the battlefield because they fell for those very words.
Now, Rentarō was on the verge of collapse, yet he still had the nerve to say something like that? Takasugi wasn't buying it.
And as if to prove him right, Masatsuki Aozaki suddenly flashed a bright, easygoing smile. He slipped his fingers through the blade ring of Banshō Senran, spinning the long sword with a casual flick.
His gaze was sharp, like a blade itself, filled with a hunger for battle. It was the look of someone saying, Come on, let's go for another three hundred rounds.
Tch. Almost fell for it. Still using Shikai, and you call that "no Reiryoku left"?
Takasugi cursed inwardly, then muttered without thinking, "You're a damn lunatic."
Still, he wasn't the type to back down without testing the waters.
With a sudden burst of power, he thrust his trident forward, sending a blue energy wave slashing through the air.
Swish!
To his shock, Masatsuki Aozaki's figure flickered—and in the blink of an eye, he reappeared a short distance away, completely unscathed.
Spinning Banshō Senran, Masatsuki Aozaki compressed his sword pressure into the blade, then charged, slashing at Takasugi with blinding speed.
Takasugi's eyes widened as he quickly raised his trident to block.
Fast!
Not only had Masatsuki Aozaki dodged his attack with Shunpo, but he had countered immediately with an attack that was just as fierce.
And then—something even more alarming happened.
Before his eyes, the shaft of his trident began to bend, straining under the force of the strike. Cracks threatened to spread.
Takasugi had no choice. Abandoning his defense, he surged Reiatsu through his feet and shot backward, retreating at full speed.
"We still have a fight to finish—"
Before Masatsuki Aozaki could finish his sentence, Takasugi suddenly turned on his heel.
In one swift motion, he grabbed Rentarō, threw him over his shoulder, and—without so much as a backward glance—took off running into the distance.
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / PinkSnake