“Hm?”

Rosse stopped walking, but he did not turn around. He only tilted his head slightly.

“Captain-Commander, do you have any final instructions?”

The subtle tension between the two made Byakuya Kuchiki and the other captains nearby frown. The air felt tight, as if something might snap at any moment.

“If something happens to me on the day of the execution, you will inherit the position of Captain-Commander.”

Yamamoto did not care about Rosse’s lack of courtesy. His voice was calm, like still water.

“As for the position of First Division captain, it will be passed to Chojiro. In these few days, I will explain everything to him.”

Boom!

Hearing these heavy words that sounded like a dying man arranging his affairs, the other captains’ pupils shrank. They stared at the old man sitting cross-legged on the ground in disbelief.

That man who had never bowed his head.

That strongest Shinigami praised as an unbreakable wall.

Even he had a moment like this?

Did he also sense something coming?

“Ah…”

With his back to them, Rosse’s lips curved into a faint smile.

He lifted a hand and waved casually.

“Captain-Commander, it is better not to say such unlucky things. You should stay strong and live on.”

“If you really die…”

Rosse stepped forward. His voice faded as his figure moved away.

“I will follow your final wish and promote the Tenth Division into the Captain-Commander’s division. As for Vice-Captain Chojiro, I will let him fulfill his wish and inherit the First Division captaincy.”

“After all, this is your last order, isn’t it?”

As Rosse disappeared through the door, the remaining captains looked at one another.

In the end, Byakuya stepped forward first and bowed deeply toward the old man’s back.

Komamura, Hitsugaya, and the others followed, each with heavy thoughts, silently leaving this place of right and wrong.

Thud!

As the heavy bronze doors of Central 46 slowly closed again, the last trace of light was cut off.

This center of power, already like a massive morgue, returned to deathly silence.

Only this time, within the endless darkness and stench of corpses, there sat one more figure bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun, a man named Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni.

Like a stone lion that had guarded this place for a thousand years, he waited quietly for the final and most tragic act to begin.

———

[One Hour Later, Eighth Division, Captain’s Office]

“What? The old man stayed alone in Central 46 and declared he will not step out until the day of execution?”

Shunsui, who had been lying lazily on the tatami, spinning a sake cup in his hand, suddenly sat up. His usually half-closed eyes were wide open in shock as he looked at his closest friend who had come to deliver the message.

“Yes. And…”

Ukitake Jushiro stood before him, his white hair swaying slightly in the breeze from the corridor.

He looked at his friend of a thousand years with a complicated expression. He opened his mouth as if it was hard to speak, then finally sighed.

“Sensei asked me to pass on one more sentence.”

“He said he will settle everything on the day of the execution.”

This was the first time Captain-Commander Yamamoto had chosen to bypass Shunsui and use him, the obedient student, as a messenger.

To outsiders, both he and Shunsui were the Captain-Commander’s prized disciples. Back then, he had always seemed well-behaved and sensible, never scolded, as if more favored.

But Ukitake knew better than anyone.

Though their teacher often chased Shunsui with a cane, scolding him for laziness and carelessness, beneath that harshness was deep expectation, treating him as the true successor.

In contrast, what he received was more like care for an excellent but sickly student.

“Tch! Looks like the old man got misled by Aizen again in Central 46.”

Shunsui let out a heavy sigh and fell back onto the floor.

The moment Ukitake spoke, he understood what that sentence really meant.

It was a declaration of war.

And a break.

“It is hard to understand.”

He scratched under his straw hat, sounding helpless but wary.

“Just how strong is Aizen? Even with the old man on full alert, even judging with suspicion, he still managed to mislead him again.”

Yes, the old man had once said that if he died, Shunsui could take over.

But that came with a tragic condition. Yamamoto had to die heroically for Soul Society before it would ever be Shunsui’s turn.

When he spoke of Rosse, though, his attitude was different. If that kid truly had the ability, stepping down and letting him take over would not be a problem.

The difference was obvious.

Even without being deceived, Shunsui’s evaluation was lower than Rosse’s, who had only served as acting Captain-Commander for a few years.

In truth, Shunsui understood that stubborn old man even better than Ukitake.

Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni had never truly trusted any student or system.

He trusted only himself.

The man known as the strongest Shinigami believed he alone was the pillar holding up Soul Society.

If one day he fell, it would be because he had completely burned to ashes.

It was precisely this extreme confidence and pride that made Shunsui understand why Yamamoto could be fooled again.

After all, their enemy was no ordinary person.

Not to mention Sosuke Aizen, hidden in the shadows, whose cards were still unclear.

Even the constant appearance of the Royal Palace behind these events was enough to make one feel suffocated.

That was a terrifying force capable of making members of Squad Zero defect willingly, even turn against the Soul King Palace.

“Shunsui, what are you going to do?”

Seeing Shunsui lean back on his hands, head tilted, staring at the sky dyed red by the sunset outside, Ukitake frowned.

He might not fully grasp their teacher’s complicated thoughts, but he understood Shunsui deeply.

That relaxed posture paired with deep eyes meant his friend had already made a serious decision, one that might not allow turning back.

“I am not planning anything special. Some things just have to be faced.”

Shunsui pulled his gaze back and looked at Ukitake, smiling lightly, though there was rare seriousness in it.

“If, I mean if, on the day of execution the old man really draws his blade against me, whose side will you take, Jushiro?”

The question was sharp enough to tear apart a thousand years of friendship.

“That depends on who is right.”

Ukitake did not hesitate. He did not look troubled.

He smiled gently and walked over, sitting beside Shunsui without concern.

“If Sensei is truly misled and loses his judgment…”

His voice was soft but firm.

“Then I will stand by your side and face his blade that burns everything.”

“Hahaha! Jushiro, you…”

Shunsui froze for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter, almost to the point of tears.

“Aren’t you worried that I might really be the mastermind trying to destroy Soul Society?”

“You?”

Ukitake laughed softly.

Memories flashed through his mind.

Sneaking drinks together at the Academy. Watching each other’s backs in battle. Talking about ideals late into the night.

Finally, the image settled on the face before him, part rogue, part lazy, yet gentler than anyone.

“No.”

He shook his head. His clear eyes fixed on Shunsui with unwavering certainty.

“I believe you, Shunsui. No matter what you say or what you plan to do, I will stand by you without condition.”

He was not someone who could not tell right from wrong.

If Shunsui were truly an unforgivable villain, Ukitake would be the first to draw his blade and cut him down.

But in this world, he trusted Shunsui more than himself.

Even if one day he himself might do something that harmed Soul Society, he would never believe Shunsui would betray his oath to protect it.

That was his answer.

“Hahaha! As expected…”

Shunsui’s shoulders shook with laughter. He raised the half-empty sake cup beside him toward his friend.

“Jushiro, in all of Soul Society, you are the only one who truly understands me.”

Gulp!

He tilted his head back and drained the cup. The burning liquid slid down his throat, igniting the fire long suppressed in his chest.

‘Just wait. No matter who the opponent is, no matter how careful the setup. In two days, everything will be revealed.’

‘Whether others believe me or misunderstand me, I will prove with my own hands and protect the last hope of this crumbling Soul Society.’

———

Night, Former Shiba Residence—

Cold moonlight poured down like liquid silver through the old paper windows, casting mottled shadows into the unlit quiet room.

In the dim space, a disturbing scene could be faintly seen.

Pop!

Kurosaki Masaki’s long wavy hair fell loosely over her shoulders, covering half her face.

She tilted her head slightly and licked away a trace of saliva at the corner of her lips, then slowly and mechanically straightened from her kneeling position.

Her expression was cold. Her eyes were like stagnant water, unfocused, without a ripple.

She began putting on the black uniform belonging to the Espada of the Royal Palace. Every movement was smooth, yet lifeless, like a preset program.

It was as if what had just happened here meant nothing more than routine work.

Throughout it all, her gaze never focused.

Not on the man standing before her, looking down at her.

Nor even on Inoue Orihime, slumped in the corner shadows, eyes hollow like a doll that had lost its soul.

After losing her value, Orihime had once again been picked up by Rosse.

What awaited her was not stronger protection, but deeper torment.

From the beginning, no one in Soul Society had cared whether she lived or died.

Not before. And certainly not now.

“Two more days…”

Masaki’s voice was cold, sharp in the silent room.

“The farce in Soul Society will finally end, won’t it?”

“More or less.”

Rosse leaned against the couch by the window, admiring his work in the moonlight.

A playful smile tugged at his lips. He reached out and gently ran his fingers through Masaki’s soft hair, stroking her like a pet.

“After all, a carefully prepared play needs a shocking ending to be complete. But…”

His fingers slid down her hair, brushing lightly over her earlobe.

“Yoruichi and Ichigo. Their final endings are not yet written.”

Masaki’s hand paused mid-button.

The air froze for a second.

Then she stopped all movement.

As if a deeply implanted instinct had been triggered, her body reacted quickly and honestly.

She turned her head slightly, lifting her cheek to rub softly against Rosse’s palm like a tame cat seeking affection. Her eyes half closed as she let out a faint murmur.

“Master, there is no need to test me.”

Her voice was gentle, empty, and chillingly obedient.

“I do not care what kind of ending Kurosaki Ichigo will have.”

She looked up. In her pupils reflecting Rosse’s face, there was no emotion, only endless emptiness.

“After all, his ending was decided from the beginning, wasn’t it?”

She knew clearly that the soul called Kurosaki Masaki had already been broken beyond repair.

No one needed to tell her.

That night, when she saved Ichigo on the ruins of Seireitei, the lake in her heart that should have rippled remained as still as a tombstone.

At that moment, she understood.

Her once proud will, her dignity as Kurosaki Masaki, had not survived years of patient shaping and erosion by Rosse.

Her body, long used to kneeling.

Her heart, long numb.

All bore his mark.

Even the person she once would have died to protect no longer stirred in her even the slightest urge to shield him.

Even when she rescued Ichigo at the West Gate, it was only because… it was her master’s order.

Nothing more.

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