Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society! Chapter 342: The Woman Who Whispered Kenpachi

If one were to delve into the purest essence of the soul, it would beco clear—no matter how thoroughly Roka’s personality had been overwritten by that of Szayelaporro Granz, the fundantal existence still belonged to Roka Paramia. She was Roka at her core. The soul, the spiritual signature, the very thread of existence that tethered her to the universe—it had not changed.

But the soul alone did not define presence.

From the perspective of mories, identity, consciousness... it was another story altogether.

The entity now acting through Roka’s body, speaking her voice, moving her limbs, and carrying her intellect—was undoubtedly Szayelaporro.

After unraveling all of this in his mind, Mazuru’s heart stirred with mixed emotions.

Amazent. Curiosity. And most of all, a sense of discomfort.

He had to ask the obvious: where was Roka now?

Her body was walking, speaking, breathing... but her self, her being, seed entirely absent.

Were the signs of instability he’d seen recently—her stuttering speech, erratic eye movents, inconsistent spiritual pressure—all a manifestation of Szayelaporro’s mind reviving itself within her?

At first, Mazuru had valued Szayelaporro solely for one purpose: his brilliant conceptual invention—the Gabriel—a thod by which Mazuru was able to flawlessly reunite his two split selves, rging his bifurcated soul into one complete entity.

That alone had earned Szayelaporro temporary use.

But only temporary.

Once the rger had been completed and Mazuru’s full power restored, Szayelaporro’s usefulness had expired. His arrogant manner, his inhuman experints, his obsession with perfection—Mazuru had found all of it detestable.

Still... this event had changed things.

Szayelaporro had not died. He had relocated.

Reincarnated through mory and personality into the vessel known as Roka Paramia.

That wasn’t just intriguing—it was unprecedented.

For Mazuru, this ant one thing: he had to find Roka. Whether or not Szayelaporro had fully consud her consciousness, he needed to investigate. If personality could override soul integrity, this defied the foundational laws of spiritual biology.

And Mazuru would not let such an anomaly slip past him.

...

Within the serene confines of the Soul Society, a storm brewed behind its blue skies.

In the innermost regions of Seireitei, a man wearing a straw hat and pink haori stepped silently through a narrow path. His footsteps crunched against gravel as he approached a wooden structure built atop a lake—Ugendō.

Kyoraku Shunsui had co to visit Ukitake Jushiro.

It was a familiar path, one he had walked many tis.

Jushiro was perpetually ill. His spiritual body, though powerful, was shackled by an incurable condition. Eleven out of twelve months, he remained bedridden, his pale face and gentle smile hidden behind sliding paper doors and dicinal mist.

Still, his insight was unmatched. In these tis of uncertainty, Shunsui sought his wisdom.

The reason?

Multiple arrancars had infiltrated Seireitei simultaneously.

Not an army. Not a frontal assault.

But scattered, precise infiltrations.

All signs pointed to a mastermind—a certain individual who had once brought Soul Society to the brink.

Kyo Mazuru.

Over a year had passed since the last major confrontation. The fragile truce with Hueco Mundo had held all this ti, almost suspiciously so.

But Shunsui wasn’t fooled.

He knew the silence was unnatural.

He also knew that the Royal Guard, the mysterious Zero Division, had yet to make a single move. Not even after the spiritual veins under Karakura Town were spared by Mazuru’s influence.

Did he fail to forge the Ōken?

Or did he never intend to create it in the first place?

Why was Mazuru simply... watching?

Plotting?

Shunsui’s brow furrowed beneath the brim of his straw hat.

He hadn’t reached Jushiro’s residence when sothing snapped him from his thoughts.

There, by the edge of the lake, stood a lone woman.

She wore white—immaculate, clean, simple. Yet every instinct in Shunsui’s body scread foreign. Otherworldly.

And then he saw it: the fragnt of white bone clinging to the side of her head like a crown.

An arrancar.

He instinctively suppressed his reiatsu, narrowing his eyes as he watched her.

But she didn’t move like a threat.

She didn’t even sense him.

Her reiatsu blended with the spirit particles of Seireitei as if she belonged.

It was eerie.

Shunsui sighed and stepped forward, stroking his chin with that tired, playful air he always wore, even when uncertain.

"Miss, are you lost?" he asked casually.

The arrancar woman turned, surprised.

As if she hadn’t expected anyone to approach her.

Reiatsu blood from her like ripples on a pond—shwuuuuh—delicate, fleeting, not sharp like a blade but smooth like a breeze.

"You were... at that ti..." she murmured, her voice soft.

"At that ti?" Shunsui smiled, tilting his head. "I think I’d rember eting soone as charming as you."

He watched her carefully.

No hint of hostility. No sign of aggression.

Yet, she started to disappear.

Not using Garganta.

Not even Sonído.

She simply... faded. Like morning mist under sunlight.

"You were with Kenpachi Kuruyashiki back then, weren’t you?" she asked suddenly.

His eyes widened.

Kenpachi Kuruyashiki?

Before he could speak, she bowed slightly.

"I’m sorry. The scenery here was just so beautiful... I couldn’t help myself. I’ll disappear now."

And then, she was gone.

No trace left.

Not even a ripple on the lake.

Just silence.

A mont later, Jushiro appeared, his gentle presence made known by the faint spiritual fluctuation as he erged from his residence. The encounter with the arrancar had stirred even his weakened senses.

The two old friends spoke quietly for a while.

And then, Shunsui departed.

But his thoughts were now elsewhere.

’Kenpachi Kuruyashiki...’

That na hadn’t been uttered in Seireitei for over two hundred years.

But now, out of nowhere, an arrancar—a being of Hueco Mundo—had spoken it.

...

Two hundred fifty years ago.

A wave of nos Grande surged into Soul Society lead by a Vasto Lorde.

They were unstoppable.

Until one man appeared.

Kenpachi Kuruyashiki.

He was brutal. A beast in human form. His spiritual rope dragged behind him like a chain of death, soaked in the energy of a hundred slain hollows.

He fought alone.

And he won.

But victory drew challengers.

Another shinigami erged.

He challenged Kuruyashiki... and defeated him.

A miracle.

That man’s na was Azashiro Soya.

He beca the new Kenpachi.

Kenpachi Azashiro.

But soon after, he disappeared from public sight.

He had committed a great cri—details buried by Central 46.

He turned himself in.

And for his cri, he was sentenced to the lowest level of Soul Society’s prison.

"The Muken."

A cell that even the Royal Guard rarely invoked.

Shunsui had witnessed it all.

And now, an arrancar woman had uttered Kuruyashiki’s na—just before vanishing without conflict.

Why?

What connection did she have to the past Kenpachi?

What did it an?

As Shunsui wandered the stone paths of Seireitei, the wind rustling his haori sleeves, one thought echoed in his mind like an old, forgotten chant:

’Sothing buried is rising again.’

*****

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