"Yamamoto!!"
Kyoraku Kei's voice already carried a tremor of despair, but he still gripped his Zanpakuto, which was on the verge of breaking apart, with all his strength.
His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at the suffocatingly powerful figure before him, almost roaring, "Even if you're old and going blind, there should be a limit! This is my Bankai. There's no one else here at all! Your wild guesses are ridiculous!"
He was lying. Not just to Yamamoto, but to himself.
In that instant just now, when he saw the wound suddenly appear on Captain-Commander Yamamoto's back, he had already vaguely guessed the truth.
That hidden mastermind might not be Shunsui at all.
If that mastermind's ability was to control the five senses, then the ambition he heard and saw from the so-called Shunsui could also have been fake.
From the very beginning, the Kyoraku family might have been nothing more than pieces on that person's board.
At this moment, only endless sorrow remained in Kyoraku Kei's heart.
But as the guardian of the Kyoraku family, as the clown already standing on stage in this grand play, he could not stop, and he could not admit it.
If he showed fear now, if he admitted that a third party had interfered, then every sacrifice and every arrangement the Kyoraku family had made would instantly turn into a joke.
Even if he had to die, he had to shoulder this blame completely, to fight for the last sliver of life for Kyoraku Shunsui, to preserve the final shred of dignity for the family.
This was a solo dance with no way back.
"Noisy."
Captain Yamamoto merely lifted his eyes slightly and glanced at the old man stubbornly resisting before him.
In those clouded yet sharp eyes, there was no anger, only a detached indifference and weariness from seeing through everything.
They were both monsters who had lived for over a thousand years. Did he not understand the simple truth that the more one tried to cover something up, the more guilty it looked?
The more Kyoraku Kei screamed that he was alone, the more it confirmed that someone else truly existed behind the scenes.
'Exhausting.'
At this moment, the old man who had weathered a thousand years of storms was in a foul mood beyond words. Betrayed by the disciple he trusted most.
That disappointment rising from the depths of his heart made him completely lose interest in continuing this farce on the absurd stage.
Buzz!
There was no extra movement, no incantation.
Yamamoto simply flicked his wrist, and the ancient blade Ryujin Jakka traced a golden-red afterimage through the air.
It looked like an ordinary slash, yet it carried heat enough to burn the heavens.
Crack!
Kyoraku Kei's Zanpakuto, [Scroll of Playful Lies], symbolizing his life and will, shattered like a brittle branch the instant it touched Ryujin Jakka's edge.
Then the blade, wrapped in destructive force, did not slow down and struck heavily across Kyoraku Kei's aged body.
"AHHHHH!"
A piercing scream echoed over the arena.
In an instant, flames so intense they seemed almost liquid burst from the wound, like greedy fire serpents wildly devouring his flesh and soul.
Before this karmic fire that could purify all sins, this old man who had fallen for the sake of family honor did not even have time to leave final words before turning into ash, completely scattering into the air.
Not far away, Captain-Commander Yamamoto's expression remained cold. Personally executing an old acquaintance did not stir even a ripple in his heart.
He casually flicked the blade, and the lingering flames on it vanished instantly, along with the nonexistent trace of blood.
Click!
As the sword slowly returned to its sheath, the crushing spiritual pressure that seemed able to collapse the sky withdrew as well.
At the same time, the grand and absurd illusion of the ancient Roman arena began to tremble violently.
Massive stone pillars collapsed. Yellow sand dispersed. The clown masks in the void shattered silently.
In the blink of an eye, the bizarre world faded, and everyone returned to the dark, damp Central 46 chamber filled with the heavy stench of corpses.
In front of the highest judge's seat lay a charred body, burned so badly it was nearly unrecognizable.
That was the last trace of Kyoraku Kei.
"Grandfather!"
"Great-grandfather!"
"Elder Kei!"
"..."
Seeing the spiritual pillar of their family reduced to charcoal on the ground, the remaining sages of the Kyoraku family felt as if struck by lightning. The false dignity on their faces shattered instantly, replaced by endless despair and grief.
It was over.
Everything was over.
They trembled as they looked down at the captains below, who watched them like predators.
The coldness in Byakuya's eyes, the disgust in Hitsugaya's, the sorrow in Komamura's, and at the very front, Captain-Commander Yamamoto, like a demon god.
Those gazes were like swords piercing through their final line of defense.
"For the Kyoraku family!"
The sages exchanged glances, a deathly resolve flashing in their eyes.
They did not wait to be questioned, nor did they try to beg or argue.
In this hopeless situation, they each drew the Zanpakuto hidden in their sleeves and pointed the tips at their own abdomens.
Now that the plan was fully exposed and Kyoraku Kei was dead, as losers, only death could preserve the last shred of dignity for the family.
Thud! Thud!
The sound of blades piercing flesh rang out one after another, blood instantly staining their white robes red.
"Captain-Commander Yamamoto?"
At that moment, Rosse, who had been standing nearby, suddenly spoke.
He still wore that gentle and proper smile. Even in this field of corpses, he appeared calm and composed.
His gaze swept over the Kyoraku sages writhing in pain, and he asked in a seemingly respectful tone, "Shall we intervene and save them?"
The words sounded like a request for instruction, but in truth they were a statement of position.
With the abilities of the captains present, saving these sages who had just committed seppuku and were not yet fully dead would be effortless.
But few here wanted to save them.
The truth was already laid bare. This was not just a conspiracy, but a betrayal aimed directly at the Captain-Commander.
Whether to save these traitors and leave them alive for interrogation depended entirely on Yamamoto's will.
Rosse had no special feelings about it. To him, they were merely pieces about to exit the stage.
Having performed their roles so brilliantly, their lives had already gained meaning. That was a kind of value that pleased him.
He was simply acting as a considerate observer, voicing the question for those captains who despised the Kyoraku family and wished them dead.
Save them? Or not?
"If they are guilty, they shall be punished."
Captain-Commander Yamamoto did not even glance at them. He simply spoke those six words calmly.
The tone was flat, yet cold to the extreme.
That single sentence not only sentenced the sages to death, it also permitted their deaths without trial.
Let them die with their secrets, without dragging in more people, without enduring interrogation.
It was perhaps the final and only bit of mercy this betrayed old man would grant to his rebellious disciple's family.
As life faded, the last sounds in the hall disappeared.
Captain-Commander Yamamoto slowly closed his eyes. In that moment, he seemed to age ten years.
Memories of Kyoraku Shunsui flooded his mind.
That disciple who always wore flashy kimono and lazily called him "old man" while holding a sake bottle.
That gifted yet lazy youth he had to chase with a cane.
That reliable man who shouldered responsibility while he lay injured and unconscious, all those past moments tinged with warmth rushed through his mind, trying to piece together a complete Kyoraku Shunsui.
But only for an instant.
Crack!
It felt as if something broke deep inside.
Those memories shattered like glass struck by a hammer, splintering into countless sharp fragments at the truth of betrayal he sensed through spiritual pressure, stabbing deeply into his heart.
Perhaps... from the very beginning, from that day a thousand years ago when the boy with tea-colored curls knelt before him to become his disciple... the Kyoraku Shunsui who always spoke of protection and peace, who acted detached yet understood the world too well... had been false.
He was the most prized disciple.
And the traitor who deceived him for nearly a thousand years.
"This ends here."
After several seconds of silence, Captain-Commander Yamamoto suddenly opened his eyes.
The weariness and warmth that once filled them were gone. In their place was killing intent colder than the harshest winter.
Since the disciple chose betrayal, then as his master, he would personally clean house.
"Captain-Commander Yamamoto."
Sensing the suppressed yet surging spiritual pressure around Yamamoto like a volcano about to erupt, Rosse's lips curved slightly in satisfaction, though his face remained serious.
At the right moment, he asked the question on every captain's mind, "Since the truth is now clear, shall we continue the judgment regarding Kuchiki Rukia?"
"The judgment continues."
Yamamoto's voice was hard as iron.
"But there is no need for a substantive trial of Rukia."
"Prepare the execution as scheduled. The grander the better."
The old man's gaze seemed to pierce through the heavy walls, looking somewhere into the void.
"I would like to see what that rebellious disciple intends to do in the final act once the stage is set."
This was an open scheme.
Since Kyoraku Shunsui wanted to stir the waters with Rukia's execution, he would go along and burn the waters dry.
"But the fact that we forced our way into Central 46 and uncovered the truth cannot be hidden."
Rosse frowned slightly, sounding concerned.
"If Captain Kyoraku receives the news and knows the plan is exposed, he may not act as originally planned on the day of execution."
The words sounded like consideration for the bigger picture, but inwardly Rosse sneered.
'Cannot be hidden?'
'It is only that I don't want to hide it.'
From the day he entered Seireitei, every inch of this place, every corner, had been within his absolute perception. Even Muken.
Rosse was certain that even if Shunsui knew Captain-Commander Yamamoto would be waiting for him tomorrow, he would still come.
Shunsui thought he had acted flawlessly, secretly entering Muken to meet that prisoner, seeking a way to break the situation.
But perhaps he never imagined that his every move, every word exchanged with that prisoner, every glance, was under Rosse's watch.
Using that person's ability to counter Kyoka Suigetsu?
Using spirit particles to send messages and clear up misunderstandings? Naively laughable.
Once someone had fallen under Kyoka Suigetsu even once, the seed of cognitive distortion had already taken root deep within the soul. No technical trick could remove it.
Yes, in theory, one could bypass the control of the five senses through pure spirit particle communication.
But unfortunately, to do so, that prisoner would first need to transmit spirit particles carrying information to others.
And by coincidence, there was someone by his side who could absolutely control spirit particles.
As long as she stood within that range, a mere flick of her finger would be enough to alter or erase all spirit particle flow there.
Combined with the ultimate hypnosis of Kyoka Suigetsu, no matter how Kyoraku Shunsui struggled, no matter how clever his strategy, the plot would unfold exactly as Rosse desired.
And the day after tomorrow, the day of execution, would be the moment when that "Royal Palace undercover agent," Kyoraku Shunsui, offered a grand funeral to the teacher he so revered.
It would be a scene brilliant and cruel enough to be recorded in the history of Soul Society.
Such a splendid ending, of course, should be carried out publicly before all Shinigami.
"I understand him."
Captain-Commander Yamamoto was unmoved by Rosse's concern. His tone was firm and cold.
"He will continue. That is his nature. That is his arrogance."
After speaking, the old man did something no one expected.
Before all the captains, he sat down cross-legged directly on the bloodstained floor of the Central 46 chamber.
"Until then, I will remain here."
Yamamoto slowly closed his eyes, ignoring the corpses scattered around and the nauseating stench.
"If he knows I am stationed here, he will not send anyone to probe this place again. He will place all his chips on the day of execution."
In thousands of years, what storms had he not seen?
In his youth, in even more chaotic times, eating and sleeping among mountains of corpses had been normal.
Compared to that, the bodies and smell here were nothing more than child's play.
"Very well."
Looking at the old man sitting as steady as a rock, Rosse shrugged helplessly.
"Since this is your decision, I will respect it."
He had no interest in sitting for days in a room full of corpses with a stubborn old man. It was meaningless.
Rosse turned, the hem of his coat stirring a faint breeze, and walked toward the door of Central 46.
But before he had taken two steps, the old man's deep voice came from behind him, "Captain Rosse!"
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