Aizen postponed his answer, claiming it was a question that couldn't be solved on the spot.
It wasn't just a stalling tactic, so I let him be.
If your resolve can be swayed by someone else's words, you might as well quit—one could have said that.
But his eyes held neither panic nor muddled doubt; only surprise and a deep, spiraling contemplation. So I decided to watch.
I'll admit, I was impressed.
The instant he realized a flaw in his ideal, Aizen didn't get defensive or flustered. He asked himself how to improve it.
Praying the answer he brings back is sharper than before, our talk that day fizzled out.
After that, life clicked back into its usual rhythm.
Mornings with my family, seeing Unohana off to work, coaching disciples at the dōjō, lunch—rinse and repeat.
Roughly four years later, Aizen started moving again.
Naturally, I paid him a visit—and finally heard his answer.
"This world has no need for a god. A society that heaps every duty and burden onto one being is wrong. Therefore, divinity must be cast aside, and mankind must slip free of the god's embrace and stand on its own."
Aizen Sōsuke was declaring the end of the mythic age.
"If rights belong to humans, then so must responsibility. What I seek is the death of god, and the birth of a world of humans, by humans, for humans."
Shockingly, Aizen's ideal overlapped almost perfectly with Urahara's.
So this is the "all rivers return to the sea" Kagaya talked about.
My heart thumped in a way it hadn't for ages; I smiled faintly.
"Even if humanity falls into ruin because of it?"
"If ruin comes from one's own choice, so be it. But mankind won't crumble. As long as its will remains unbroken, it will crawl through the mud and survive."
Aizen said that and smiled, satisfied. His resolve was set, his ideal complete.
Even if it kills him, he'll die with a grin.
Listening to Aizen sing his hymn to humanity, I nodded.
"Do as you will. That guy would've said the same. I've got nothing more. Give it your best shot."
I patted his shoulder twice and headed home.
I won't help, and I won't hinder. I'll neither endorse nor deny.
As a shard of the divine, I can't meddle in human affairs more than necessary.
One worry lingers… When the gods vanish, will I still have a place to stand?
"…No point brooding now."
We'll only know when that day comes.
Four more years slipped by—one-hundred-and-two years before the "original story." That's when it happened.
"Hm…?"
Something stirred—similar to the Soul King's fragment, yet entirely different.
The quality matched, but the trajectory diverged. Like an alcohol lamp versus an oil lamp.
I didn't have to see it to know what it was.
The [Hogyoku]. Not the half-finished bauble Aizen forged, but the real thing.
"So he finally did it."
In the manga it vanished as a MacGuffin, so I never grasped its weight. Feeling it firsthand, I understand.
This thing is the real deal. With power like this, I'm amazed the original story let anyone beat the guy holding it.
A single marble, yet it radiates the same presence I felt when the Soul King crafted the sun and moon.
This is… insane. No—wow. Is this even possible?
"Ha."
If it makes me laugh in disbelief, imagine the creator.
He's probably wearing the same face Oppenheimer did when the Manhattan Project succeeded.
Scratching my head, I left the dōjō to a senior instructor and walked toward the source of the pressure.
There he was the moment I arrived—Urahara, staring down at his newborn [Hogyoku], hands trembling.
"I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."
Crash!
Startled speechless, Urahara toppled over, staring up at me like he might drop dead on the spot.
Even then he wouldn't let go of the jewel—that alone told me plenty.
I dragged a nearby chair over and sat, looking him in the eye.
"Thinking, 'What on earth have I made?' I can see it on your face. Not the little trinket you imagined, huh?"
"I… never intended to create something like this."
"Yeah, no kidding. What did you make? I was so shocked I ditched work and sprinted here."
Chuckling, I leaned back.
"So? What were you trying to forge?"
"The Soul Ki—no, lies are pointless in front of you."
He let out a bitter laugh, straightened up, and rested his back against an overturned desk.
In his palm glimmered a [Hogyoku] far smaller than Aizen's.
"Curiosity. Pure curiosity."
"They say curiosity kills the cat—not that this is the time. So? What were you so curious about that you built that?"
"I wanted to see a new world. A realm beyond this creaking universe. And this is the result. I touched what should never be touched—what humans were never meant to reach."
"That so."
I could've told him it's too soon to despair, but geniuses are like that.
Jomon, Aizen—same breed. The [Hogyoku] lies beyond even Urahara's comprehension. Fear is natural.
After a long, silent stare at the jewel, Urahara clenched it tight and looked at me—face set.
"…I know it's unreasonable, but—"
"No."
He hadn't expected an instant refusal and blinked at me, dumbfounded. I snorted.
"What, you thought I'd smash it if you begged? Kid, you knocked on the wrong door. You've done your homework on what I am and what I do: I toss problems onto the table and ask the bill, I don't pay it for you."
Smart man that he is, Urahara grasped the meaning and never asked me to destroy it again.
He merely slipped the jewel into his coat, face clouded.
"…I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for. When people are desperate, they cling to anything. But you know the rule—clean up your own mess."
Leaving the brooding scientist behind, I headed back to the dōjō.
One year passed. One-hundred-and-one years till the story begins—and another incident blew up.
"Come again?"
"Captain of Squad Twelve, Urahara Kisuke, and Grand Kidō Chief Tsukabishi Tessai have been exiled to the World of the Living for using forbidden Kidō."
"He'd only worn that haori for nine-odd years. Shame. Wonder who takes Squad Twelve next."
A few nights back, the moon paused for a heartbeat—must've been that forbidden spell.
Meaning Aizen finally ran his Hollowfication experiment on Soul Reapers.
He likely tried to manufacture a replica of the Soul King—or something close—using his incomplete [Hogyoku].
All to reach the Soul King himself.
"The plot really is lining up with the original."
Within this single century, fate feels cursed. In nearly a million years I've never seen so many dominoes fall so fast.
That's storytelling for you.
…Makes sense. Nobody would buy a manga about my dull million-year prelude.
Probably would've been axed before volume five.
"Also, Captain Otoribashi Rojuro of Squad Three, Captain Hirako Shinji of Squad Five, Captain Aikawa Love of Squad Seven, Lieutenant Yadomaru Lisa of Squad Eight—"
Unohana rattled off familiar names.
Every one of them destined to become Vizored.
"—have all vanished. Honestly, it's suspicious. How could that many captains and lieutenants disappear overnight?"
"Tough trick, yeah."
I answered calmly, sipping miso soup.
"You're not even surprised."
At her words, I set the bowl down and mused.
"I already knew what was brewing in the Soul Society."
Unohana flinched, chopsticks pausing mid-air.
"You knew and didn't stop it?"
"Even knowing, I can't interfere."
"Why—! That's neglect!"
The echo of something I'd heard before made me smile wryly.
But there was only one answer.
"I can't keep fixing everything forever."
Unohana said nothing. Her eyes said the mind understood, but the heart refused.
"…Let's sleep in separate rooms for a while."
So it comes to this.
Bitter, yes—but I couldn't back down. I gave a small nod.