[Bleach: The Invincible Slacker] Chapter 181 - 185

Chapter 181

Because their cards are now on the table, they'll only suffer worse defeats—and maybe even die more miserably.

The problem with people like Superman and Batman is that they can change the world, but they don’t. They cling to dreams of a better future while refusing to get their hands dirty. How can you expect change without sacrifice? How do you build a better world without breaking anything?

Kisuke Urahara has this same flaw.

He’s a being so brilliant he’s practically demonic. Yet after discovering Aizen’s plans, what did he do? Nothing—he laid low for over a hundred years, hiding in the shadows. Urahara is gentle, yes, but he’s always been passive, always reactive. Never one to make the first move.

That’s his limit.

Uehara Shiroha doesn’t understand people like that. Evil might be easier. Don’t fight for anything. Don’t dream of change. Just let the old, noble elites of Soul Society solve their own messes? What a joke.

Uehara chose to lie down because he earned that right. He has the strength and qualifications to slack off if he wants to. But those other guys? They haven’t reached that level. Not even close. So what right do they have to give up?

If they like being passive so much, fine. Uehara’s happy to give them a push. After all, he’s still missing a few handy tools in his metaphorical toolbox. People like Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke, and Zaraki Kenpachi—they’re far too valuable to discard. Excellent workers like them shouldn’t be left idle.

Ichigo’s potential? That’s just begging to be squeezed dry.

He’s spared Zaraki Kenpachi many times, and not out of mercy. Zaraki still has value. He’s a perfect training dummy. Of course, to outsiders, it doesn’t look like Uehara showed any mercy.

Truth is, Uehara’s definition of "restraint" doesn’t mean going easy. When he cut Zaraki down, he really cut. He just didn’t finish the job. If he held back too much, it wouldn’t count as good training, would it?

If anyone else had taken a hit like that, their grave would’ve already sprouted weeds two feet high. You’ve got to admit—Zaraki Kenpachi’s body is built different.

After being scolded by Uehara, Kurosaki Ichigo felt a mountain of pressure crashing down. He didn’t even know how to respond. The worst part was—he knew Uehara was right.

Ichigo couldn’t refute a single word. But he also didn’t want to change. That contradiction tied him in knots. And since things hadn’t fallen apart yet, he kept convincing himself he could wait and see how it all played out.

Uehara expected that. It was fine. Reality would teach them all a lesson sooner or later. He didn’t need to do anything. Just sit back and let them work hard on their own.

Right then, Grimmjow’s expression turned grim. His eyes burned colder, sharper. He stared at Uehara Shiroha with bitter frustration, thinking:

“This guy’s a monster… no, a monster among monsters. There’s no winning against him. Why are all these damn Shinigami so ridiculously overpowered?!”

At that moment, memories of being dominated by Aizen’s spiritual pressure came flooding back. That helplessness. That humiliation. He’d had no power, no choice. All he could do was take it out on Ichigo afterward.

He thought he could at least win that fight. In the end, he didn’t even get to throw a punch.

He never resisted Aizen. And now he couldn’t resist Uehara Shiroha either. It was instinct—pure survival. This wasn’t his war.

Uehara noticed Grimmjow’s complicated gaze and raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh? Grimmjow, thinking of avenging Nnoitra? You’re still Espada, aren’t you? But betrayal seems to be your natural talent.”

He hadn’t forgotten—Grimmjow’s Fracciones had all been obliterated by himself. And this guy hadn’t even blinked. Never even acknowledged them.

That’s just how Hueco Mundo works. No place for the weak. If you’re not strong enough, tough luck. Better to rely on yourself than expect help from anyone.

Right now, Grimmjow was still a beast—untamed, impulsive, driven by pride. He constantly sought strong enemies to prove his worth. But by the time of the Thousand-Year Blood War, you could tell he’d changed. Still wild, but more controlled. No longer charging blindly into battle.

Every sneak attack he pulled off? A clean headshot.

Grimmjow’s voice was cold, edged with venom.

“The Espada? They were never my comrades. I didn’t abandon them—they turned on me. Aizen, Tōsen… they looked down on me like trash. I should’ve walked away long ago. But we were never the same. Not even close.”

Of course, the truth was worse. Aizen and Tōsen practically bullied him at work—took his lunch money and cut off his damn arm. If Orihime hadn’t restored it, he would’ve lost his Espada rank and his cool points.

And Grimmjow? He always thought Aizen had garbage-tier judgment. Sixth Espada? Please. His strength was clearly above that. Aizen didn’t deserve his loyalty.

That’s what Grimmjow told himself, anyway.

But deep down, faced with the massive gap in strength, all he could do was rage silently and think:

“Screw fairness. I don’t want a fair fight anymore. I just want a real win. I don’t even care about being king now!”

Uehara’s overwhelming power, combined with Grimmjow’s repeated defeats, finally crushed his king complex. He let it go.

Because really—what’s the point of being king if monsters like this are walking around?

Might as well embrace the chaos. Kill who you want. Get the job done. Take the head.

Looking at Grimmjow’s expression—like he was saying “the Espada lost, but I didn’t”—Uehara Shiroha couldn’t help but laugh.

Want to be king without the sit-up training arc of a certain rubbery protagonist? Keep dreaming.

It’s good to be idealistic in your youth, but at the end of the day, reality still demands you clock in and do your job.

Hopefully, Kurosaki Ichigo will figure that out sooner rather than later.

In any case, Uehara was enjoying the show, so he wasn’t losing out.

Then he turned and took Nel with him.

He had no plans to participate in the upcoming battle to defend Karakura Town. That wasn’t his concern. His mission now was to protect the nobles in Noble Street. The safety of Karakura Town—or even the world—wasn’t his problem anymore.

Sure, Uehara Shiroha still held the position of Third Seat in Squad 1, but Gotei 13 couldn’t order him around anymore.

In truth, ever since he became the Captain-Commander of the Teigun, he’d earned the right to stand on equal footing with Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni. Now, with Noble Street under his control, he’d basically become Soul Society’s uncrowned king.

That’s what separates Uehara from Kurosaki Ichigo.

Uehara doesn’t care about order, balance, or “the greater good.”

Yamamoto and the others were too scared of civil war to go after the nobles directly. But that’s fine. Because now they have to fear him.

He’s better at flipping the table than any noble.

If someone accuses you of stockpiling weapons of mass destruction, the best response is to actually have them.

Uehara does have them. And they’re all high-grade, top-shelf deterrents.

This is what’s known as nuclear peace.

The nobles wouldn’t dare destroy the Three Realms or Soul Society. But Uehara? He’d do it without hesitation—without even blinking.

That’s why the Gotei 13 decided to wash their hands of the whole conflict. They didn’t help the nobles, and they weren’t going to help him either.

Chapter 182

Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni had lived for countless years. A man of such age and experience naturally knew when to help someone—and who to fear. And now, it was clear: Uehara Shiroha was the true monster, the one who understood the “big picture.”

Unfortunately, the moment you ask him to care about the big picture... you’re already marked for death.

Meanwhile, compared to the utterly demolished Zaraki Kenpachi, Kuchiki Byakuya and Kurotsuchi Mayuri were practically having a spa day.

Facing the Seventh Espada, Zommari, who couldn’t even activate the powers of his Cursed Eye, Byakuya effortlessly dominated the battle. It was less a fight and more a slightly annoyed stroll through his flower garden.

As for Kurotsuchi Mayuri, with a solid information advantage and Szayelaporro’s power greatly reduced, he simply popped a Superman Potion. The result? No surprise there—Szayelaporro was dissected, looted, and turned into a science fair project before he could even monologue.

Mayuri provided a one-stop service: kill, loot, research. A scientist and a robber in one tidy package. And the haul? A treasure trove of precious experimental materials. Jackpot.

Meanwhile, Unohana Retsu quietly began treating Rukia—and conveniently used the opportunity to slack off just a little. As one does.

At the same time, deep within the Palace of Night, Aizen, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname were observing the battlefield. Several captains had moved. But the trio didn’t panic—they were already prepared.

In fact, the captains’ arrival was part of the plan.

“Zaraki Kenpachi… there’s no doubt you're already terrifyingly strong,” Aizen said, watching the 11th Division Captain embedded in a massive rock pillar on the monitor. His tone was calm, almost admiring.

“You just chose the wrong opponent. But perhaps… that’s what you wanted. You’re stagnating. You need something—someone—to push you forward. While you sit in place, we will be in the right place, at the right time, to welcome glorious evolution.”

Aizen was no idealist. He had long accepted that changing the world required overwhelming power—and that power required sacrifice. Fortunately, he had found a way to make others pay the price for him. The Espada were convenient like that.

Sure, their performance had been disappointing. But they weren’t the key players moving forward. Their lives and deaths? Entirely disposable.

“That beast... he’s like a demon,” Tōsen Kaname muttered, sensing Zaraki’s lingering Reiatsu. It stirred memories he’d rather forget.

He still remembered that humiliating defeat—his Bankai shattered by that man. Either way, the scars ran deep. People like Zaraki, born with raw, chaotic power, should have been erased long ago. Their very existence was an offense to "justice."

Zaraki was destined to be an enemy of order. Thankfully, he came to Hueco Mundo—where there was finally a chance to bury him forever.

As for the man who one-shotted Zaraki, Uehara Shiroha? Yeah... Kaname decided to just... pretend that wasn’t his problem.

Uehara’s combat ability was so absurdly off the charts, it might as well have been filed under "Supernatural Events"—not something for him to deal with.

Ichimaru Gin, ever the sly fox, tilted his head thoughtfully.

“So that’s why Lord Aizen transferred Zaraki Kenpachi to Hueco Mundo… Lord Aizen, you really don’t miss a beat. Even a monster like him is just another piece on your chessboard. What terrifying calculations…”

Neither he nor Tōsen brought up Uehara Shiroha. Not even once. They both knew better. Dealing with that guy before Aizen’s fusion with the Hōgyoku? That’d be suicide.

They couldn’t win. Simple as that. So instead of confronting Uehara, they’d sidestep him—or wait until Aizen evolved into something... more.

Still, Aizen’s attention on Zaraki puzzled Gin.

Unohana made sense—her identity and her awareness of Kyōka Suigetsu’s illusion made her dangerous. But Zaraki? The man didn’t even have Bankai. So why was he being watched so closely?

“The Reiatsu of Szayelaporro and Zommari just vanished. That okay?” Tōsen asked, frowning as he picked up distant fluctuations.

Byakuya on Zommari’s end. Mayuri on Szayelaporro’s. Expected matchups.

The Espada were meant to stall, maybe sacrifice themselves—but those fights ended even faster than expected. Probably thanks to that ridiculously overwhelming Reiatsu that had flooded Hueco Mundo just moments ago.

Uehara Shiroha had barely made a move—and yet, the battlefield had tilted completely.

Aizen, however, smiled calmly—his confidence untouched.

“No problem. In fact, it’s perfect. The time is right. Let’s begin. The stage is set—let’s not keep our audience waiting.”

In the white sands of Hueco Mundo, Soul Society’s mad genius Kurotsuchi Mayuri stared at his fresh pile of scientific spoils like a kid in a candy store.

He’d been here before. But back then, he could barely move. Uehara Shiroha was watching him like a hawk, and Mayuri had no death wish. Even in Hueco Mundo, it was Uehara's domain. Doing whatever he pleased? Not an option.

Hueco Mundo may be vast, but it’s very convenient for burying people. Just saying.

To outsiders, he and Szayelaporro were both mad scientists—willing to die for their research. But to Uehara? Everyone was equal. Madman, genius, peasant—it didn’t matter. He’d turn you into a corpse just the same.

Uehara Shiroha wasn’t just powerful. He had strength, confidence, and most terrifying of all—calculated restraint. Mayuri may not fear death, but he wasn’t going to die stupidly.

That’s why this same Mayuri who dared to talk back to Captain-Commander Yamamoto and ignore Gotei 13’s rules would, in front of Uehara, become the picture of humility.

Honestly, compared to Uehara, even the Arrancar’s deterrent power was a joke. Uehara, a Shinigami, dominated Hueco Mundo more thoroughly than its native rulers.

It was outrageous. And deeply unfair.

So in a twisted way, Aizen’s arrival in Hueco Mundo had been a blessing. Without Aizen stirring things up, Mayuri wouldn’t have dared to move. The Gotei 13 wouldn’t have dispatched captains. He’d never have gotten his hands on these priceless materials.

As it turned out, if he didn’t run into a walking disaster like Uehara Shiroha, he could still claim victory.

Even Uehara’s leftover spiritual pressure was dangerous—something even the Captain-Commander couldn’t suppress. But Mayuri wasn’t ashamed. Losing to someone like that? That wasn’t failure.

Because, in Mayuri’s mind: if he kept hiding, he’d never lose.

Vasto Lorde-class Hollow corpses? Fantastic for research. He’d take as many as he could get.

And the cherry on top? He’d completely thrashed Szayelaporro in their "scientific debate." Not only did he win, but he’d also used Szayelaporro as a live test subject for the Superman Potion.

The Eighth Espada lost tragically. Mayuri, meanwhile, walked away with another successful field test.

Frankly, he was starting to get numb to victory.

The materials he’d acquired today would take his research to the next level. He looked over at Ishida Uryū, who was lying nearby, battered and exhausted.

Mayuri’s expression softened into something vaguely human.

“You're seriously injured. Want me to treat you?” he asked, voice filled with unconvincing sympathy. “My medicine does have a few... mild side effects. But it’s extremely effective. Take just one pill, and you’ll be up and bouncing in no time!”

As he spoke, he began pulling out some truly questionable substances.

Chapter 183

Kurotsuchi Mayuri couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about this Quincy always felt… off.

Part of it was the sting to his ego—he’d lost to Ishida Uryū the last time he used Bankai, and that alone marked the boy as a threat with untapped potential. But it wasn’t just that. There was something invisible about him, some elusive talent that had interfered with Mayuri’s last battle.

That talent had haunted him since. It was the main reason he’d placed the boy under observation.

But even after watching for so long, Mayuri still couldn’t crack the mystery.

Maybe, just maybe, if the boy took one of his medicines... he'd finally get a peek inside that brain.

“No need! I can still hold on!” Uryū grit his teeth, standing stubbornly despite the blood and bruises covering his body.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of twisted thoughts swirled in the Shinigami scientist’s mind. He’d already seen the side effects of Mayuri’s “miracle medicine.”

If he dared take Mayuri’s drugs now, he might not even live long enough to regret it.

Of course, Uryū had made another crucial misjudgment.

He thought that since Uehara Shiroha had made a move, the Ten Espada and Aizen were basically grasshoppers in autumn—jumping now, dead in a moment. In his mind, this war was almost over. They’d be packing their bags and heading home soon.

He had no idea that Uehara Shiroha had clocked out and gone off to fish somewhere.

This war? Far from over.

As Uryū struggled to maintain his composure, two ridiculous black shadows suddenly leapt from the sand in the distance—striking overly dramatic poses like they were entering a sentai show.

“Fear not! For we…. Pesche! Dondochakka! Is hereeeeee”

The pair—two humanoid Arrancar in absurd costumes—had briefly joined the earlier battle against Szayelaporro, even pulling out their so-called "ultimate combo moves." But thanks to Szayelaporro’s absurd analytical powers, their efforts were cracked faster than a speedrun glitch, and they were promptly planted face-first into the sand.

Had it not been for Uehara Shiroha sneakily slapping a weakness debuff on Szayelaporro and Mayuri’s perfectly timed entrance, these two would’ve been Hollow dust by now.

“Enemies?” Mayuri raised a brow, still floating nearby, clearly enjoying the show.

“No, Shinigami! We’re family!” Pesche and Dondochakka shouted in panic. “We helped in the last battle, honest! But we have a request... that could cost us our lives. Please, please help us save Lady Nel!”

They both fell to the ground in full dogeza, their heads banging against the sand with audible desperation. They still believed Nel was being held captive inside Las Noches. With their pitiful strength, even one Espada was out of reach, let alone the dozen other nightmares lurking behind them. Charging in alone? Suicide.

Their only hope was begging the Shinigami.

Watching this pitiful scene, Ishida Uryū pushed up his glasses and sighed.

"I admire your sincerity, but… you are absolutely begging the wrong person."

In fact, if there were a top 10 worst people to beg, Kurotsuchi Mayuri might hold spots 1 through 10. A mad scientist like him didn’t even qualify as cruel—he transcended such basic concepts. Words like "empathy" and "morality" simply didn’t exist in his internal dictionary.

Sure enough...

“Denied,” Mayuri said flatly, not missing a beat. “My priority now is processing the spoils of battle. Saving people? Not my problem. I suggest you drop your naïve expectations.”

Harsh, but honest.

The real reason, of course, was that Mayuri had a solid read on Uehara Shiroha’s mindset. The man didn’t care about winning or losing. His earlier display of force had been more like a casual greeting. He wasn't here to finish the war—he was just playing around.

If Uehara truly wanted this war over, Aizen, the Espada, and Las Noches would’ve already been reduced to spiritual ashes. Based on all intel Mayuri had gathered, it was clear that Uehara didn’t take the Hōgyoku or Aizen seriously at all. The man was so confident in his control over the situation that it bordered on absurd.

And Mayuri... believed it.

He didn’t fully trust a genius like Kisuke Urahara—after all, geniuses make mistakes. They misjudge, they get arrogant, they fail. But Uehara Shiroha? People like him didn’t make mistakes.

It was that simple.

Pesche and Dondochakka, on the other hand, looked completely defeated. The rejection hit hard enough that they both began visibly vibrating—caught somewhere between throwing a tantrum and collapsing from grief.

Uryū quickly stepped in, speaking with urgency.

“Wait... are there still variables in this war? But hasn’t Uehara Shiroha already come to Hueco Mundo? Doesn’t that mean it’s basically over?”

Before anyone could answer, a chilling Reiatsu swept over them—originating from Las Noches.

A familiar voice followed:

“Although the hospitality was a bit lacking, we must now depart from Hueco Mundo and move to Karakura Town. I will use the Hōgyoku’s power to forge the Ōken. So please... remain here and await the arrival of God.”

It was Aizen.

He had gathered his most important troops and was preparing to move to Karakura Town.

Originally, if Uehara Shiroha hadn’t interfered, Aizen might’ve waited—drawing things out to further suppress Soul Society and unlock Kurosaki Ichigo’s full potential under pressure. But after Uehara’s appearance, a subtle shift occurred.

Aizen’s outward demeanor remained composed, calm, and calculating—like he was still in complete control.

But deep down, his heart had begun to sink.

Even he hadn’t noticed it at first.

Now, Aizen had changed his plan. He wasn’t going to wait anymore. He was moving.

Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s face twisted as the pieces fell into place.

“So that’s it... All the Garganta we used to enter Hueco Mundo are sealed. We’re completely cut off. This was Aizen’s plan all along! He’s actually going to create the Ōken? Impossible!”

He had always thought Aizen’s talk of creating the Ōken was just empty posturing. After all, if such a thing were so easy, why hadn’t he done it already?

With that belief, Mayuri had stuck to his own life-creation experiments—assuming Aizen was just being dramatic, maybe trying to distract them with talk of Orihime.

But now it was clear: Aizen was serious. The Ōken really was his goal. Orihime was just a red herring.

Could the Hōgyoku actually accomplish something of that scale? A single artifact replacing the divine engineering of the Soul King himself?

Mayuri’s excitement began to stir. The possibilities were... intoxicating.

As for the hundred thousand souls needed to create the Ōken? Please. In his mind, that was practically a donation drive. Being sacrificed for the Ōken was honor.

But one thing still didn’t sit right with him.

According to all research and calculations, the Hōgyoku wasn’t supposed to fully awaken for several more months. So how…?

Did Aizen have a backup plan?

Kurosaki Ichigo, who had been silent until now, finally cried out:

“The Hōgyoku is already awake?! But I thought it needed Orihime’s Shun Shun Rikka to awaken it early! What the hell is going on?!”

Chapter 184

As a "pure male high school student," Kurosaki Ichigo’s mind simply couldn’t keep up with those crafty, ancient foxes. So, up until now, he still hadn’t realized the truth—Inoue Orihime and her powers were just bait.

Aizen didn’t take her to Hueco Mundo purely for her Shun Shun Rikka ability. He brought her here to divert Soul Society’s attention—and scatter their forces. And it worked brilliantly. The two biggest variables, Kurosaki Ichigo and Uehara Shiroha, had both left the battlefield to come to Hueco Mundo.

Now, Aizen could launch his invasion of Karakura Town without resistance.

Of course, Uehara Shiroha had seen through this already. He knew Aizen’s trick. By drawing out a massive burst of Reiatsu—several times stronger than a captain’s—he had essentially helped Aizen forcibly awaken the Hōgyoku. That gap in knowledge allowed Aizen to trap the captains inside Hueco Mundo while kicking off his true plan.

And, as if on cue, Aizen’s voice echoed, cold and elegant, as if reading their minds:

“You’ve likely discovered by now that I sealed off the Garganta you used to enter Hueco Mundo.”

“Speaking of which… Inoue Orihime was only ever a backup plan. I never expected her to bring such a delightful surprise—she ended up luring four captains and Uehara Shiroha. Truly, the Gotei 13 never disappoints in their eagerness to protect their own.”

“Her power—the Rejection of Fate—has already brushed the edge of divinity. A forbidden ability. No one with sense could ignore its potential. A mere backup, and yet it trapped so many strong individuals. Quite the bargain, don’t you think?”

“Now that over half of the Gotei 13’s remaining forces are here, the rest poses no real threat to me. Without you… my plan proceeds perfectly. Thank you all for your cooperation.”

That last line was pure salt in the wound.

But it wasn’t just for mockery—Aizen had a reason. He knew Uehara Shiroha couldn’t truly be restrained in Hueco Mundo. That man could leave whenever he wanted. But Aizen also believed that Shiroha wouldn’t interfere. If he planned to, he would’ve already done so. In Aizen’s mind, their current situation was... a mutual unspoken agreement.

Still, to be cautious, Aizen had ordered Starrk to take action. Orihime was still a useful chess piece. Her removal would ensure nothing unexpected could jeopardize the plan.

“So that’s what this was all about...” Inoue Orihime whispered, stunned. She hadn’t realized she’d been used as bait.

She had just finished healing Ichigo and was currently treating Zaraki Kenpachi. Grimmjow, refusing any help, had silently dragged his wounded body away. Typical pride.

But just as Orihime activated her Shun Shun Rikka again to continue treating Zaraki, a black shadow silently appeared before her. A hand gently rested on her shoulder.

The man looked like a laid-back uncle who’d just been pulled from his nap. In a casual tone, he said:

“Sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to come with me. Lord Aizen’s orders.”

The speaker? None other than Coyote Starrk, Primera Espada.

It was an unexpected development. Starrk, being number one among the Espada, needed no explanation for his strength. With a flicker of Sonído, he vanished—Orihime in tow.

Zaraki Kenpachi and Kurosaki Ichigo both swung their blades at the exact moment—but they cut through nothing but air. To slip away from both of them? This man wasn’t just fast—he was a monster.

“Kenpachi! I’m going after her!” Ichigo called out, already vanishing with Shunpō as he gave chase.

Kenpachi just grinned, his wild eyes staring at the tall figure on the platform ahead.

“Powerful guys just keep showin’ up... Hueco Mundo’s the best!” he cackled, voice filled with excitement.

His spiritual pressure surged, and behind him rose a monstrous skeletal phantom—his murderous intent made manifest.

This was no longer the Kenpachi who had first entered Hueco Mundo.

Now, he was fully unleashed—his seals broken, his power pouring out without restraint. He had pushed himself to the limit in his fight with Uehara Shiroha, only to be crushed in an instant. That humiliation still burned within him, turning into rage, bloodlust, and desperation for a real fight.

Even vice-captains would collapse under such a murderous aura. But atop the high platform, Yammy Llargo stood tall, completely unfazed.

“Of course Hueco Mundo is a great place,” he sneered. “But not for you.”

He raised a massive fist, his spiritual energy crackling like lightning.

“Because this will be your grave. You’re facing me—Cero Espada, Yammy Llargo!”

To Yammy, Zaraki’s energy was impressive, sure—but ultimately meaningless. In Hueco Mundo, he believed his power reigned supreme. Especially in his Resurrección, which he considered invincible. The only potential problem was the incoming reinforcements.

He could sense two more powerful Reiatsu approaching—more Shinigami. Most likely two of the four captains. But Yammy didn’t care. He couldn’t stop a monster like Uehara Shiroha, but regular captains? Just ants beneath his feet.

A flash of movement interrupted his thoughts as Kuchiki Byakuya landed nearby, his gaze cool and dismissive.

“I’m not finished yet,” Byakuya said calmly. “All enemies… must be eliminated.”

His last opponent had fallen without resistance. That victory felt empty—he hadn’t even warmed up before it ended. Worse, he knew his last opponent had already been weakened by Uehara Shiroha. That made his win feel like a hand-me-down.

That wasn’t something a noble like him could accept.

He didn’t need backup. He didn’t need favors. He would win with his own power. As a model of nobility, Kuchiki Byakuya had both the duty and pride to uphold that image—even more so in front of Uehara Shiroha.

After all, that man had… “stolen” his sister Rukia.

Sure, Rukia had gone with Uehara willingly, so technically, he couldn’t complain. But emotionally? He was fuming. On top of that, Uehara Shiroha’s disdain for the noble families was no secret. The man didn’t just ignore tradition—he practically spat on it.

Byakuya knew most nobles had indeed brought ruin upon themselves. But still, someone had to prove that not all nobles were parasites. He would become that example. He would make nobility great again.

“Oi, that guy’s my prey,” Zaraki growled, eyeing Byakuya like a rival. “Back off, or I’ll cut you down too.”

He’d wanted to fight Byakuya for ages. That icy personality, that refined swordsmanship—it was the perfect contrast to his wild, brawling style. They were opposites, and that made Byakuya the ideal whetstone for Kenpachi’s blade.

After the humiliating beatdown from Uehara Shiroha, Kenpachi needed this. Slashing down two captains in one day might soothe his bruised pride.

Byakuya’s tone dropped several degrees colder.

“If that’s how it is… I have no problem eliminating you too.”

His eyes narrowed, calculating.

He wanted to deal with Yammy quickly—then break free of Hueco Mundo and assist in Karakura Town. For the sake of the mission, he could temporarily cooperate with Zaraki.

Chapter 185

Byakuya didn’t expect Zaraki Kenpachi to be this unreasonable—to ignore strategy, timing, and priorities so completely.

This man didn’t know the difference between what mattered and what didn’t. He had no grasp of the bigger picture.

In that case… don’t blame Senbonzakura for not recognizing you.

The two of them didn’t even spare a glance at Espada Yammy, still standing on the platform in front of them. It was as if he didn’t exist.

Up on a distant rock pillar, the ever-pink-haired Yachiru Kusajishi stared at them with wide, innocent eyes, her expression full of giddy anticipation. She wasn’t worried about the outcome. In fact, she looked like she was watching the opening act of a comedy skit.

Then Yammy snapped.

“You two bastards… DIE!!” he roared.

Enraged at being ignored, Yammy activated his Resurrección without hesitation. A titanic surge of spiritual pressure exploded from him—stronger than any of the other Espada. To him, being dismissed like this wasn’t just disrespectful—it was unforgivable.

A pillar of dark energy erupted from beneath him, roaring into the heavens. It wasn't just transformation—it was a declaration: the real battle was starting.

Right on cue, a swarm of lower-ranked Arrancar leapt from behind the dunes and charged toward the Shinigami duo.

Zaraki Kenpachi grinned wide, eyes flashing with bloodlust.

“Hahaha! Outta my way, you small fry!” he bellowed. His voice dripped with excitement, savagery, and greed. His blood boiled.

His eyes locked on Yammy.

“You... You’re a big one. Just the kind of guy I love to cut down. Been a while since I had a proper fight. You're the perfect whetstone!”

The moment he finished speaking, his blade moved.

A blinding flash. An explosion of Reiatsu.

Golden energy surged like a tidal wave across the desert, devouring the sand dunes and vaporizing the horde of minor Arrancar in front of him. His sword gleamed like a white thread cutting through gold, dazzling and deadly.

BOOM!

The blast shattered bone, flesh, and steel, erasing the weak in one swing. Even the sand dunes weren’t spared. Pulverized sand blasted into the distance like bullets under the shockwave.

The sheer force left a wake of devastation—and a cloud of glittering particles dancing in the aftermath.

Kuchiki Byakuya narrowed his eyes as he watched from the side.

“This monster… he’s even stronger than before.”

Zaraki didn’t even have Bankai, and yet he kept growing stronger. Where was his limit?

Even among the eccentric captains of the Gotei 13, Zaraki Kenpachi was a complete anomaly. His fighting style, raw potential, and wild instincts defied logic and tradition. Byakuya didn’t respect his mindset—but he acknowledged the strength.

Still, speaking of monsters… one far greater came to mind.

Uehara Shiroha.

A genius among geniuses. A monster among monsters. A being beyond any comparison in Soul Society's history.

He wasn't just strong—he was on another tier entirely. Not simply because of talent, but because of a level of effort and refinement that most couldn’t even comprehend.

Byakuya still remembered the fight from decades ago.

His crushing loss to Uehara Shiroha had ignited a fire in him. Since then, he had trained relentlessly—day after day, year after year. While that man was off enjoying life, splurging money like an aristocratic playboy, Byakuya was grinding his blade and honing his discipline.

He hadn’t wasted a single moment. Not one. He had trained harder than anyone else. For his pride, for his noble house, for his captain’s haori.

He believed in the balance of hard work and talent. That if you gave enough effort, no genius could remain out of reach forever.

But reality was cruel.

After a century of back-breaking effort, the gap between him and Uehara Shiroha hadn’t closed.

It had widened.

Not only had he failed to catch up—he had been left behind, hopelessly, irreversibly.

Even now, the residual Reiatsu that lingered in the air, long after Uehara had vanished, was proof of that. It was a strength that laughed in the face of logic—a level of power that simply should not exist.

Byakuya had once sneered at the others who called Uehara’s power “unfathomable.” He thought they were just making excuses for their weakness.

“Effort can surpass talent,” he had believed.
“Hard work makes up the difference.”

But now… he understood.

Hard work only widens the gap between you and the average. It can’t overcome a true genius. Not one born of that caliber.

And Uehara Shiroha was that kind of genius.

Byakuya realized it now—with bitterness and shame.

All his pride, his effort, his training... meant nothing in front of that man. He hadn’t even made a dent in the mountain.

To believe he could defeat Uehara Shiroha with hard work alone… was ridiculous.

He was nothing but a clown in comparison.

And that realization? Burned like hellfire.

At the same time, far across the battlefield, Unohana Retsu was quietly treating Kuchiki Rukia—but her eyes shifted to the horizon, her face thoughtful.

She sensed it.

Zaraki Kenpachi’s Reiatsu. Stronger. Wilder. Hungrier.

He had become even more powerful.

She had watched his earlier “fight” with Uehara Shiroha—though calling it a fight was generous. It was a massacre. Kenpachi hadn’t stood a chance. He was reduced to a helpless child in the face of overwhelming force.

And yet, he was not weak.

Zaraki Kenpachi, the 11th Division’s berserker captain, was terrifying in his own right—filled with explosive potential. It was just that he chose the wrong opponent. Uehara Shiroha had transcended into something else entirely.

Even if you placed him among the legendary first generation of the Gotei 13, Uehara Shiroha would have stood among the strongest. A god of war. A phenomenon. Even Unohana, in her peak, wouldn’t dare claim victory over him.

She felt it in her blood—the way her instincts recoiled and her muscles tensed whenever she sensed Uehara’s lingering spiritual pressure. Even his casual attacks left behind trails of power that exceeded most captain-level Bankai.

He was just... different.

Only a few times in her entire life had she encountered someone like that.

But Zaraki Kenpachi... was growing.

It wasn’t an illusion. Every time he neared death, he clawed a little further out of his own restraints. He didn’t gain new power—he reclaimed what was sealed.

She used to think she was the only one in Soul Society who could awaken his true strength. After all, she was the one who forced him to suppress it in the first place.

She was the first Kenpachi.

According to tradition, the title should be passed through blood and battle. If Soul Society needed it, she would fulfill that duty. That was her role in his evolution.

But now… Uehara Shiroha had appeared.

And everything changed.

Unohana realized, with a strange mix of awe and dread, that even she might no longer be the most qualified to awaken Kenpachi’s full potential.

Every time Uehara left traces of his spiritual power behind, it felt like her entire being was shaking. His Reiatsu made her blood boil. Her sword hand trembled—not in fear, but in hunger.

She had only ever seen this kind of presence...

Once or twice before in her entire existence.