[Bleach: The Invincible Slacker] Chapter 176 - 180

Chapter 176

When it came to Ichigo Kurosaki, Uehara Shiroha actually found the time to offer him a few pieces of advice.

If it had been Prince Naruto or Monkey D. Luffy standing here, he wouldn’t have bothered.

One of them acted like he’d been hit by Kotoamatsukami, unable to listen to anyone; the other couldn’t even read, let alone understand what was being said.

Compared to those two, Ichigo Kurosaki was far more lovable—respectful, polite, and soft-hearted. Even if he didn’t fully grasp Uehara Shiroha’s intentions right now, he would remember them in the back of his mind.

A teachable seed, this one.

In other words, with just the right amount of manipulation, Ichigo could easily be used to stir up chaos—a prime-grade troublemaker.

Meanwhile, Orihime Inoue was eyeing Uehara Shiroha thoughtfully. Her eyes sparkled with surprise, admiration, and even a little gratitude.

She understood things that Ichigo didn’t—she saw deeper into the implications.

But she had no intention of letting Ichigo understand them.

Although she felt thankful to Uehara Shiroha and was clearly moved by his overwhelming presence, Orihime was also painfully self-aware.

Much like Aizen, Uehara Shiroha was a powerful, and dangerous existence.

She and Ichigo were no match for someone like him.

So while she respected him, a part of her instinctively wanted to keep her distance.

“She’s pretty sharp,” Uehara Shiroha smirked, instantly seeing through Orihime’s thoughts.

There were still some good women in Bleach—the kind you’d never regret marrying.

Take Orihime, for example: sharp, grounded, and sensible. Just like several of his own trusted companions.

But Kurosaki Ichigo? He had no core leadership instinct at all. He was too timid!

That wouldn’t do.

Thinking of this, Uehara turned to Ichigo and said with a sigh of disappointment:

“I heard your grades are pretty good? And you’re still wasting your time on stuff like this this late into the night? What a waste of talent.”

“Is school really what you should be focused on?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo, you’re not like the others. Don’t let studying drag you down.”

He wasn’t just messing with the kid.

Ichigo, who carried the blood of four powerful lineages, really wasn’t like the average person. His ancestry was even more absurd than the Soul King’s.

In this world where power ruled all, studying was a waste of time—for someone like Ichigo.

The kid might not be aware of it, but Shiroha could see things clearly.

Dreaming of a peaceful life? That’s a privilege reserved for the strong.

If Ichigo hadn’t inherited such a monstrous bloodline, his family would've been wiped out during the very first Hollow attack.

This was the reality of the Shinigami world: Only the strong survived. The weak didn’t even get a chance to play.

That was the essence of it.

Of course, loving life and sticking to your ideals even after seeing the world’s dark side wasn’t a bad thing.

It just wasn’t fun.

Uehara preferred seeing others carrying the weight, struggling under pressure—that was far more entertaining than doing all the work himself.

Hearing this, Ichigo scratched the back of his head awkwardly and gave a dry laugh, trying to change the subject.

“Ahaha, it’s not that bad... Anyway, Commander Uehara, aren’t you worried about Aizen and the Espada?”

He didn’t hold any grudges over Uehara killing Nnoitra. Ichigo just couldn’t bring himself to do something like that, but he wasn’t blind to right and wrong—Nnoitra had it coming.

He just didn’t want Uehara dragged into the war because of him.

After all, the man standing before him had never seemed interested in opposing Aizen directly. He always looked like he wanted to stay out of the whole mess.

“Who do you think I am?” Uehara raised his chin, his tone noble and righteous. “I, Uehara Shiroha, will never make peace with Aizen and the Espada!”

“Even if I have to sacrifice your life and the entire Gotei 13, I’ll defeat Aizen completely!”

Ichigo blinked. He still didn’t quite get it.

He was too young—too naive.

Even if Uehara killed all the Espada by himself, Aizen wouldn’t be mad. If anything, it would just prove Uehara’s strength.

That’s why those two future prison bosses—Aizen and Yhwach—wouldn’t dare drag him into their game.

In this world, if you didn’t want to be someone else’s pawn, you first had to prove you were capable of flipping the board.

Then, and only then, would you be qualified to share the prize.

Strength is freedom.

“...Ah?” Ichigo broke out in a cold sweat after hearing Uehara’s bold declaration. He was finding it hard to believe the commander wasn’t taking the upcoming war seriously at all.

To Ichigo, the conflict between Soul Society and Aizen was a world-shaking event.

To Uehara, it was just another round in a game.

At that moment, Uehara Shiroha looked off into the distance, his gaze landing on the shifting white sands.

“They’re coming.”

He smirked. “By the way... is your sword even real? Why do all the Hollows and Shinigami you slash end up following you around?”

“Did you spike your sword with something? Right, Grimmjow?”

From Abarai Renji and Byakuya Kuchiki to Grimmjow—and soon, the legendary Eighth himself, Kenpachi Zaraki—they were all weirdly obsessed with Ichigo.

It was like a parade of man-crushes.

Kamijou Touma punched people and built a harem; Kurosaki Ichigo slashed people and built a squad of bromantic rivals. Perfect division of labor.

That said, Shiroha knew this time was different.

Kenpachi Zaraki wasn’t coming for Ichigo.

First, Ichigo was still injured and recovering—fighting him wouldn’t be fun.

Second, Shiroha was simply a more exciting opponent.

Ichigo and the others soon sensed the oppressive and terrifying Reiatsu rapidly approaching—feral and overwhelming like a monster unleashed.

They looked up instinctively.

From the distance, in the shifting white sands, a red-gold figure came charging in like a runaway locomotive.

That force—combined with a monstrous Reiatsu—sent chills down their spines. For a moment, they felt like they’d fallen into an icy pit, a blade of spiritual pressure piercing straight through their bodies.

It wasn’t just killing intent. That Reiatsu felt sharp enough to cut through the air—solid, suffocating.

Amid their confusion, Ichigo and Orihime found something eerily familiar about that aura.

So strong.

Ichigo, Orihime, Nel, and even Grimmjow—who had just woken up—stared wide-eyed at the oncoming figure.

Moments later, a towering man arrived, stepping through the white dunes.

He looked like a walking natural disaster, his body radiating wild, murderous energy.

“It’s him... Kenpachi Zaraki!” Ichigo’s expression tightened.

Relieved for a moment—only for dread to take its place again.

Sure, Zaraki wasn’t an enemy.

But the Eleventh Division’s captain wasn’t exactly safe either.

Enemy or ally, if he got bored, he might just start cutting down his own teammates. Ichigo had learned that the hard way.

Orihime’s gaze was filled with worry as she tried healing Ichigo. She knew Kenpachi too well—he wasn’t a “normal” captain.

Once that guy got worked up, he’d attack anything that moved. And for some reason, he really enjoyed fighting Ichigo.

The scariest part?

He thought of those duels as friendly sparring.

Who could survive that?!

Grimmjow also looked stunned when he recognized the new arrival. His jaw dropped.

“There’s another monster?!”

Chapter 177

The Gotei 13 really was full of monsters.

In fact, Uehara Shiroha's earlier jab had "accidentally" hit a sore spot.

After all, he too had been slashed by Kurosaki Ichigo and ended up on the losing side.

Grimmjow didn’t appreciate being called out like that.

He chose to ignore it, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. Even when facing Aizen, he never played ostrich like this—but Shiroha was something else entirely.

Aizen tolerated his antics only because he still had some value.

But if he dared raise his voice in front of Shiroha?

His head would be flying off before he even finished the sentence.

Grimmjow had no doubt about that.

Zaraki Kenpachi scanned the group and grinned.

“Well, well. Ichigo Kurosaki’s here too. What a surprise.”

“Hueco Mundo’s turning out to be a gold mine!”

He chuckled, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Lie down and recover, Ichigo. I’ll take care of Shiroha first. Then you’re next. Got that? You’re number nineteen on the list!”

For Kenpachi, this was nothing short of a slaughter feast.

Uehara Shiroha wasn’t his ideal opponent—his ice powers were too tricky and countered Zaraki too well.

But without the use of ice, Shiroha was the one opponent he wanted to defeat the most.

It had nothing to do with honor, duty, or any sort of higher calling. It was purely for the challenge.

Ichigo was also a rare powerhouse, full of surprises.

But compared to Shiroha?

He was just the little brother tagging along.

Their strength levels weren’t even close. Not the same league at all.

But Kenpachi Zaraki wasn’t about to pass up this "buy-one-get-one-free" deal.

Two rare opponents—both worth fighting—and both standing right here?

This was double happiness. The more, the merrier.

As his fighting spirit ignited, Kenpachi’s Reiatsu surged like a wildfire. Waves of spiritual pressure rolled off his body in increasingly violent bursts.

Nearby, the pink-haired Yachiru Kusajishi skipped lightly across the battlefield, appearing atop a nearby rock.

She stared at her captain with glittering eyes, then turned to Shiroha with a curious grin.

She was looking forward to this.

In the past, she'd always wondered how Kenpachi would win.

Now? She was just curious how long he could last.

Pity, really. Her captain usually got tossed around like a ragdoll when it came to this particular matchup.

But even that had its charm.

Kenpachi enjoyed every second of it. Shiroha had more trump cards than a Vegas casino. The way those deadly techniques kept coming—each more ridiculous than the last—was pure spectacle.

Yachiru Kusajishi wasn’t about to miss the show.

She wanted blood. Lots of it.

Fully fired up, Kenpachi ripped off the eyepatch that sealed his Reiatsu without hesitation. Then, gripping his sword with one hand, he launched into a wild slash.

He didn’t hold back. Not even a little.

Facing Shiroha, he knew better than to go easy. His inner seal loosened with excitement, and his Reiatsu exploded outward like a dam breaking.

Within moments, it had already surpassed his usual limits.

His slashes came crashing down like tsunamis—raw, violent, and devastating.

If this were any other opponent, Kenpachi wouldn’t have gone full throttle so soon. That would be too boring.

He liked to draw things out—feel the tension, taste the opponent’s spirit as he wore them down with his blade.

But Shiroha wasn’t an ordinary opponent.

He’d learned that the hard way.

In their last bout, he had one, maybe two chances to land a hit. Wait too long, and he'd either get frozen solid or one-shotted.

He couldn't afford to hesitate.

So this time, he went all in right from the start.

Golden Reiatsu exploded around him like a rising tide, swallowing everything in its path.

His blade flashed with fury—like a volcanic eruption, unleashing the wrath of a berserker.

Kenpachi’s red eyes glowed with madness, his face twisted into a wicked grin.

There was nothing in his heart but one thing: destroy the enemy.

Every strike came with bone-crushing power. He was a walking hurricane of death.

At that moment, Kenpachi Zaraki embodied pure chaos—unstoppable and wild.

Uehara Shiroha simply watched him, relaxed as ever.

“The value of the ‘strongest captain’ just keeps rising.”

The 11th Division had long been known for their battle prowess.

They were the front-line maniacs, the war junkies who rushed into every skirmish first and came out either bloodied or dead—and they wore that with pride.

Injuries? Sacrifice? That was just part of the lifestyle.

Because every battle, their captain led from the front.

Kenpachi was always the first into the fray—and somehow, he always won.

That made the 11th Division soldiers idolize him even more.

In fact, they even "crowdfunded" the title: Strongest Captain of the Gotei 13.

Whether by brute force or reputation, no one else even came close.

And right now, standing in front of Ichigo Kurosaki and the others, Kenpachi truly looked the part.

His presence, his pressure, his strikes—everything screamed dominance.

Especially the golden, skull-like Reiatsu forming around him—solid and terrifying. It struck fear deep into the hearts of those watching.

To them, he looked less like a Shinigami and more like a war god.

“So much Reiatsu!” Orihime and Nel trembled involuntarily.

If Uehara Shiroha’s aura made people want to worship him...

Then Zaraki Kenpachi’s aura made people want to run.

It wasn’t just overwhelming—it was suffocating.

They only felt a small fraction of his power, yet their hands were already cold, their bodies shaking uncontrollably.

“This pressure is insane...”

“He’s gotten even stronger…” Ichigo muttered.

He had once fought Kenpachi in a brutal battle for survival.

He remembered the crushing despair, the near-death moments, the overwhelming power that Kenpachi unleashed.

If not for the intervention of “Uncle Zangetsu,” he might not have survived.

And that was the old Kenpachi.

This new version? Stronger. Wilder. Scarier.

Ichigo didn’t like where this was going—no matter who won, this wasn’t going to end well.

“Now’s not the time for in-fighting…” he murmured.

But over there, Kenpachi had already leapt forward, blade swinging toward Uehara.

“Let’s go!”

Uehara Shiroha didn’t mind war-hungry types like him.

Actually, he didn’t even view Kenpachi Zaraki as a proper person.

Even this almost-unsealed version?

Even if it were Kenpachi in full Bankai mode?

Still not worth taking seriously.

Sure, his fighting spirit and sheer force were impressive.

He could blast captains aside in base form, split meteorites in Shikai, and even threaten god-tier beings with his Bankai.

Chapter 178

In the original plot, among all the captains of the Gotei 13, only Zaraki Kenpachi was truly worthy of inheriting the title of “Strongest Shinigami” from Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.

But in Uehara Shiroha’s eyes?

Meh. Not that impressive.

First off, that whole "adaptive seal" thing? Kind of a joke.

Instead of sealing his enemies, Kenpachi essentially sealed himself. All for the sake of enjoying a “good fight.”

He unconsciously suppressed his own power, matching his opponent's strength level just to prolong the fun. It sounded cool—like some edgy warrior trope—but really, it was just dumb.

Put nicely, you could call it “walking a different path,” “being trendy,” or “keeping it stylish.”

Put bluntly?

It was the kind of thing people did when they had power but no control over it.

It’s like trying to play the pig just to eat the tiger—except you're not pretending to be a pig, you're literally rolling in the mud.

Uehara Shiroha, for example, could one-shot captains without breaking a sweat. But did he go around blasting people like Rukia or Renji into ash during training sessions?

Of course not.

Control over one’s own strength was basic. The bare minimum. Day-one curriculum for the truly powerful.

And with Kenpachi’s “unsealing” speed?

If he faced a top-tier opponent or an explosive glass-cannon type, he’d be wiped out before he even had time to react.

Case in point: Kurosaki Ichigo took him down once using that very opening.

To make matters worse, even Kenpachi’s Bankai—while undeniably powerful—came with a massive drawback.

It tore up his body as much as it did his enemies.

A double-edged sword in every sense. It was short-lived, unstable, and extremely hard to control.

In the end, he had to fight and kill Unohana Retsu, the previous Kenpachi, just to finally unlock his full power.

And the results?

Still just... okay.

In Uehara’s eyes, Zaraki was a beast with raw talent—but ultimately just a well-fed vegetable.

Meanwhile, Uehara himself didn’t even need to lift a finger to grow stronger. His system handed him invincible abilities like candy. Just lying down, he’d gain new skills. But even so, he never stopped training.

He mastered every power he received.

His techniques were precise. His control was perfect. Every move he used wasn’t just overwhelming—it was executed with surgical precision.

That was true strength.

Kenpachi had a rock-solid foundation, sure. But his power was too brute-force, too wild. Like swinging a sledgehammer in a tea shop.

He had no finesse—only instinct and raw drive.

That might work on most people. His sheer force and monstrous resilience could overwhelm them.

But against Uehara?

Talent alone just wasn’t enough.

So when Kenpachi charged in, all fired up and overflowing with battle spirit, Uehara didn’t flinch. In fact, he almost laughed.

Ichigo Kurosaki and the others, however, weren’t nearly as composed.

Seeing Kenpachi in full battle mode left them completely stunned.

His base Reiatsu was already terrifying—and now it had spiked again.

“Does this guy even have a limit?!”

Monster.

And those slashes?

Even watching from a distance made their skin crawl.

At this moment, Zaraki’s face practically had the words “I Am Invincible” written across it.

Under their shocked gazes, the war god charged straight at Shiroha.

And then… the war god was sent flying.

To be more precise, Zaraki Kenpachi was smacked across the battlefield like a baseball, hurtling through the air at high speed.

Facts didn’t lie—Kenpachi was still no match for Uehara Shiroha.

Past, present, future, or even alternate timelines—Kenpachi had zero advantage in this matchup.

If a regular person faced such a gap in power—getting slapped around, losing every time, seeing no hope of winning—they’d start to break.

They’d doubt themselves. Feel frustrated. Eventually, they’d give up the fight altogether.

But that’s exactly why Kenpachi Zaraki was different.

Where others would walk away, Kenpachi would double down.

He didn’t believe in unbeatable opponents. If one existed, he’d just keep slashing until it broke.

That wasn't ego—it was a belief etched into his very soul.

The thrill of fighting the impossible.

But even that kind of unshakable resolve… looked pathetic in front of Uehara’s absolute dominance.

Because in the face of overwhelming power, belief—no matter how strong—meant nothing.

Kenpachi charged in at full force.

Shiroha casually sidestepped with a single Tenjin Shunpō and flicked his wrist in a basic hakuda strike.

Boom—Kenpachi was launched.

He hadn’t even drawn his sword.

It was effortless. Clean. Mockingly elegant.

But far from being discouraged, Kenpachi let out a loud, booming laugh as he flew backward.

“Hahahahaha! THAT’S the stuff…!”

Despite his injuries—despite being tossed like a ragdoll—he looked even more excited.

He didn’t back down.

He never could.

Blood oozed from the corners of his mouth, his body already torn from the impact—but his eyes burned brighter.

His killing intent sharpened. His Reiatsu flared up even stronger.

His fighting spirit didn’t diminish—it amplified.

If anything, the pain only pumped him up.

His frame seemed to grow, the sheer pressure he exuded rising like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

He had entered a new state—complete madness.

Destroy. Fight. Bleed. Repeat.

Kenpachi, now in full berserker mode, dragged his broken body across the desert and launched himself forward again.

A man drenched in blood.

A sword raised high.

CLANG! The golden Reiatsu around him condensed into a violent arc, the impact howling like a tiger’s roar through the dunes, splitting the very air apart.

Yachiru’s bright eyes sparkled with joy.

“Ken-chan’s going crazy again. I love it!”

She beamed from her perch, clapping her hands like a child watching fireworks.

Every single time, Kenpachi would get beaten to a pulp by Shiroha.

And every single time, he'd walk away grinning wider than before.

Each defeat fueled him. Made him hungrier. Gave him more fire.

Fighting was his entire purpose. His reason to exist.

No matter how badly he was beaten, he never gave up.

Never retreated.

Never stopped.

Ichigo and the others stood frozen in disbelief.

Kenpachi, already unbelievably strong to begin with, had gone all-out—and yet, Shiroha crushed him with a single blow.

One hit.

And still, the man kept fighting.

And what’s worse—his strength actually increased after getting hurt.

“Monster…” Ichigo muttered again, voice hollow.

Over on the other side, Shiroha couldn’t help but grumble inwardly.

“What kind of undead vitality is this guy running on…?”

“And the more injured he is, the stronger he gets? Are you sure you're a Shinigami and not some RPG boss in rage mode?”

That was what made Kenpachi so troublesome.

In the Bleach, defeating someone with high Reiatsu wasn’t always that hard.

The goal was usually to knock them out or overwhelm them enough that they couldn’t fight anymore—not necessarily kill them.

Hit them hard enough, and they’re done.

But actually killing someone with high Reiatsu?

Way harder.

That was just how spiritual beings worked.

Even in the original timeline, despite all the wars and massive battles, only a handful of well-known Shinigami ever died.

Unless someone had overwhelming power or abilities that ignored defense altogether, most fighters just got injured and taken out of the fight.

Take Yamamoto, for instance. After losing just one arm, the strongest Shinigami in history became noticeably weaker.

Or Shiba Isshin—after taking a hit from Aizen and losing part of his strength, he couldn’t even activate his Bankai anymore.

Chapter 179

Though the Visoreds possessed the powers of Hollows, they had a major flaw: their durability.

Once injured, they were usually out of the fight, making their battlefield presence unreliable at best. Their performance in actual combat had always been subpar.

To Uehara Shiroha, these Shinigami with Hollow masks were “fragile”—not completely worthless, but definitely not impressive.

Kenpachi Zaraki, however, was a different story entirely.

He might be the one true exception in the entire Gotei 13.

This guy wasn’t just strong—his vitality bordered on inhuman. His defense was rock-solid, and worst of all, the more you beat him up, the stronger he got.

It was an ability that didn’t sound impressive on paper—but in battle, it was infuriating.

You’d cut him down again and again, certain he was about to drop… and then he’d stand up, eyes shining, smile widening, and fight even harder than before.

That kind of relentless spirit was enough to break a person’s will.

Even Gremmy Thoumeaux, the so-called strongest of Yhwach’s Sternritter, was overwhelmed by this quality. Despite his reality-warping powers, Gremmy still lost to Kenpachi during the Thousand-Year Blood War.

Why?

Because Kenpachi was the ultimate wild card.

His power levels fluctuated wildly. You could never predict what he’d do next.

Both Aizen and Yhwach were deeply wary of him.

Aizen even went so far as to trap Kenpachi in Hueco Mundo with a carefully laid plan, just to keep him out of the way.

Yhwach, more methodical, classified Kenpachi as one of the six Special War Powers, tagging him specifically with the label: “Combat Power.”

It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a warning.

Even in terrible condition, Kenpachi could surpass his limits. The more desperate the situation, the stronger and crazier he became.

Just ask Tōsen Kaname.

He thought his Bankai, Suzumushi Tsuishiki: Enma Kōrogi, had fully sealed Kenpachi’s senses and trapped him in a hopeless situation.

Who could have predicted that the one man to ignore all logic would fight on through pure madness and bloodlust—shattering the stalemate with raw strength?

Tōsen called it impossible. But Kenpachi made the impossible happen.

It was the ultimate proof of a classic truth: “The berserker is the strongest.”

...Except that in Uehara Shiroha’s world?

That was just a joke.

A so-called “strongest berserker” was still just one palm away from being flattened.

Even Kenpachi Zaraki—invincible in others' eyes—was laughably fragile to him.

Just like last time.

Shiroha calmly stepped forward and raised a hand.

With one simple movement, he vanished in a blur of Tenjin Shunpō.

In the next instant, he was directly in front of Kenpachi Zaraki—like space itself had bent around him.

Then came the palm.

A casual, almost lazy strike.

But the moment it connected, the air twisted. The Reiatsu surged outward with earth-shattering force.

Kenpachi, mid-swing, had no time to react.

His pupils shrank.

His sword froze.

Then—boom!—he was sent flying like a rag doll.

That absurd Reiatsu of his? It didn’t help one bit.

That “unbreakable” body? It was like wet paper under Uehara’s palm.

This time, Kenpachi came in fast—but flew out even faster.

He slammed into a towering rock pillar, his massive body embedding itself deep into the stone like a human wrecking ball.

And then…

Silence.

No movement.

Just like that, Zaraki Kenpachi, the infamous captain of the 11th Division, had been knocked unconscious like a baby taking a nap.

Ichigo Kurosaki gawked in disbelief, staring at the now-still figure stuck in the rock.

“Is... is Kenpachi okay?!”

His voice was shaken.

This was just a spar, right?

Why did it feel like a brutal execution?

Weren’t they on the same side?!

And Uehara Shiroha… he was way too strong.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a one-sided massacre.

No—calling it a fight was already generous.

Who would’ve thought that the same Kenpachi who once made Ichigo feel completely hopeless would be swatted into a cliff like a mosquito?

It was beyond ridiculous.

Hearing Ichigo’s horrified question, Shiroha just shrugged.

“Dunno. Maybe he’s dead.”

His tone was indifferent, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

To onlookers, it seemed like he’d gone too far—overdone it.

But Shiroha couldn’t care less about what others thought.

Kenpachi brought this on himself.

If anyone else had dared swing a sword at him, they’d already have a grave overgrown with weeds.

Sure, Shiroha could defeat someone without hurting them.

That kind of finesse was nothing for him.

If he wanted to, he could’ve used his perfected White Album to instantly freeze Kenpachi into an “ice popsicle” and end the battle neatly.

But there was no need.

To the average observer, a peaceful ending where no one got hurt would seem ideal.

But for someone like Kenpachi?

That was hell.

Being frozen—powerless, unable to fight—was worse than death for him.

People misunderstood the situation because they assumed everyone thought like they did.

But that was the limit of mortal understanding.

Because of Kenpachi’s unwavering spirit, Shiroha had shown him respect by using his palms instead of freezing him outright.

A double palm send-off was already a glorious burial. Most people weren’t even worthy of that.

And Kenpachi? He still wasn’t worthy of making Uehara draw his sword.

“Still not enough,” Shiroha muttered. “Thanks for the workout, Kenpachi.”

“Thanks, pretty boy!” Kusajishi Yachiru bowed cheerfully before vanishing in a flash step.

She zipped off toward the stone pillar where her beloved captain lay embedded.

Just like she expected, the battle had begun in an instant—and ended even faster.

Uehara Shiroha truly was an opponent worth getting excited about.

Meanwhile, Nel, who had finally recovered, looked up at the sky with sparkling eyes.

“Whoa! That guy flew so high!”

Her face lit up.

“Looks fun! Boss, I wanna try that next!”

With both of the strongest fighters flattened like pancakes, this was good news for her.

If even monsters like them were no match for Uehara Shiroha…

Then she’d definitely chosen the right boss to follow.

“Um, maybe I can help?” Orihime Inoue offered softly, looking in the direction Kenpachi had flown.

Her face was filled with concern.

Despite Kenpachi’s violent tendencies, she remembered how he’d always pestered Ichigo for duels back in the Soul Society.

In her heart, he wasn’t a bad person.

She just didn’t understand why he was so obsessed with challenging Shiroha.

Why throw himself into a battle he couldn’t possibly win?

It wasn’t that Orihime looked down on Kenpachi.

It’s just that Uehara Shiroha’s power wasn’t something that could be measured.

It was terrifying beyond description—on a completely different plane of existence.

When she had first encountered Aizen, Orihime felt as if her very spirit was being crushed. Her Reiatsu nearly collapsed, and even her abilities were suppressed.

It was like standing in front of a dragon.

But Shiroha?

He was worse.

Just brushing against his presence made her instincts scream in panic.

This was a power that could not be surpassed—an existence beyond all limits.

When faced with such power, Orihime couldn’t even imagine fighting.

There was only one option: run.

No matter the reason, one should never become Uehara’s enemy.

That truth had burned itself into her mind.

Grimmjow fought Ichigo because there was at least a chance—however slim—that he could win.

But Kenpachi?

Challenging Shiroha was like a mantis trying to stop a speeding train.

Pointless.

She was sure even Kenpachi knew that… but he still chose to fight anyway.

It wasn’t a battle—it was suicide.

Orihime couldn’t wrap her head around such meaningless persistence. That kind of obsessive competitiveness just didn’t make sense.

But maybe… that’s just what it meant to be a warrior.

She and Nel could only sense how strong Shiroha was—they didn’t truly understand it.

All they had was a vague concept of his strength.

Awe.

Worship.

Fear.

Those were the only things they could feel in his presence.

Chapter 180

This kind of reverence—this awe of overwhelming strength—was something etched into their instincts.

Just like lower life forms naturally submitted to higher ones, people like Ichigo and Grimmjow couldn't help but be awestruck by Uehara Shiroha.

Only those who had touched true power could even begin to grasp how terrifying Shiroha’s movements were—his flash step, his hand-to-hand strikes.

And even then, they only barely understood it.

To Ichigo Kurosaki and Grimmjow, Uehara didn’t just fight differently—he felt like he existed in another dimension entirely.

Zaraki Kenpachi was terrifying. That much was undeniable.

His monstrous pressure, his unrelenting spirit, his slashes that split the sky—no ordinary warrior could face him and walk away.

But in Uehara Shiroha’s hands?

He was like a child.

Not just defeated—dismissed.

That was what shook them the most.

They both understood how powerful Kenpachi was. They had experienced that pressure firsthand, and neither of them had the confidence to take on a full-powered strike from him head-on.

And yet Uehara had tossed him aside like a broken doll.

But it wasn’t just the power that left them stunned.

It was how he did it.

Uehara had been so casual, so effortless—like swatting away a fly while sipping tea. There wasn’t even a fluctuation in his Reiatsu.

Orihime and Nel couldn't grasp the depth of what had happened—their spiritual perception wasn’t developed enough.

But Ichigo and Grimmjow?

They saw it. And they were shaken.

Because they understood Kenpachi. His strength was within their realm of experience—the kind of power they could imagine and maybe, someday, reach.

But Shiroha?

He was beyond that.

They couldn’t even process how he moved. His footwork wasn’t like a Shinigami’s Shunpō or an Arrancar’s Sonído. It was something else—faster, cleaner, and completely undetectable.

One moment he wasn’t there.

The next, he was standing in front of his opponent, arm already extended.

It was like watching a ghost in motion.

If Kenpachi was a wild tiger roaring through the mountains, Uehara was a dragon gliding silently through the clouds—untouchable, unreadable, unreal.

Even his strikes were contradictory.

A single palm.

It looked light. Gentle, even.

But then came the sound—the visual shockwave—the sudden collapse of Kenpachi’s chest.

They watched, frozen, as the energy defense around Kenpachi’s body shattered in an instant. His torso dented inward, and he was frozen in mid-swing, completely still, just for a moment—like reality had hit pause.

That fleeting instant of stillness felt eternal.

A palm so fast it seemed slow.

So light it carried infinite weight.

It broke their understanding of combat—and of physics.

The result? Chaos in their senses. Blurred vision. Dizzy spiritual perception. Stars in their eyes and nausea bubbling in their chests.

It wasn’t just the strike.

It was the unknowability of it.

Kenpachi’s slashes were terrifying—but they made sense. You could see them coming. You could react.

Uehara’s techniques? You couldn’t even process what was happening, much less fight back.

How do you resist something you can’t understand?

That kind of power—hidden, unfathomable, and casually lethal—was enough to make anyone despair.

Uehara turned his gaze to the still-stunned Ichigo and sighed.

“Look at them… and then look at you.”

He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment.

“You’re young, but where’s the fire? You swing your sword like you’re embroidering a pillow. So soft—who’s that gonna kill?”

He didn’t even try to soften the blow.

“You need to stand up.”

“You haven’t learned any real techniques, but you’ve already mastered holding yourself back? What are you doing sealing yourself like that?”

“The truth is—you can try to suppress your instincts all you want, but they don’t go away. They’re part of you.”

“The more you force them down, the harder they’ll bounce back. You keep holding it in, and one day, you’re gonna explode in the worst possible way.”

Uehara’s tone sharpened.

“You don’t understand power. Not truly.”

“You don’t even deserve that mask.”

That was the core of Ichigo’s problem.

He wanted to protect—but didn’t want to fight.

Didn’t want to kill.

Didn’t want to change.

He wanted power without sacrifice, victory without conflict.

That, in Uehara’s view, was the real taboo.

“Why is it that the ‘blackened’ version of someone is always stronger?” he asked, half-mocking.

“It’s because that version dares to kill.”

“Once the hero starts hesitating—‘what if I hurt someone?’ ‘what if I go too far?’—they’re already three steps behind.”

“That’s how the term ‘carpet Ichigo’ came about.”

In Bleach, there were people who insisted on making their own lives harder.

They had power. They had ideals.

And yet they chose to not use them.

Ichigo Kurosaki. Kisuke Urahara...

Even Batman has this disease.

Now Uehara was fully in rant mode.

Think about it. Bruce Wayne. He’s got absurd combat skills, genius intellect, next-level tech, and more money than several countries combined.

He’s got power in every sense—physical, mental, economic.

And yet, somehow, he still can’t deal with the Joker.

Uehara shook his head in mock disbelief.

This guy wears a high-tech batsuit, drives a tank disguised as a car, and spends billions on gadgets... all to play cops and robbers with a dude in clown makeup.

In a world where money can move mountains, Bruce Wayne is still too conservative.

All that money—and he doesn’t just fix Gotham? Why not change the laws, rebuild the system, lift the poor out of the slums?

The answer’s simple.

Because Bruce Wayne is the system.

Wayne Enterprises is part of the upper class. The root of Gotham’s rot. As long as the old money elite stay untouched, Gotham won’t change.

The Wayne family benefits from the way things are.

Uehara crossed his arms.

Batman plays vigilante not to change the world, but to pretend he's not a part of it.

The cape, the mask—it’s cosplay. It’s theater.

And the villains? They get it.

That’s why no one dares expose his identity.

If they do, they’re not fighting Batman anymore. They’re fighting capitalism itself.

He smirked.

That’s when you stop dealing with batarangs and start getting hit by economic blacklists, offshore accounts, and corporate assassins.

It’s like Lex Luthor with Superman. Sure, he knows Clark Kent is Superman. But he still plays along.

Because once the mask is off, the game’s over—and no one wants to stop playing just yet.

[Sorry if you think so much rant or repetition, this is how most Chinese fanfic are, I am translating the source]