Naruto: Reincarnated as Aizen Chapter 196: A Flower in a Mirror, A Moon in the Water

Chapter 196: A Flower in a Mirror, A Moon in the Water

If Sosuke Aizen decided to stop following the original script and actually act, then the terror of his will would finally be revealed.

Seireitei was steeped in grief.

Countless Shinigami whispered his na as if repeating it could pull him back from the dead. So spoke with disbelief, so with reverence, so with the strange anger of people who had lost their anchor. More and more of that anger began to turn toward Kuchiki Rukia. In their eyes, it was her, that noblewoman, whose actions had dragged Captain Aizen into death.

They argued in streets and courtyards. They bickered while repairing shattered walls. They mourned while condemning.

And the man at the center of every heated sentence walked among them openly.

Sosuke Aizen moved down the road with calm confidence, as if returning to his own ho. No one looked up. No one paused. Shinigami stepped aside and made room for him without realizing they were doing it. Their eyes slid past him. Their senses accepted his presence as nothing unusual.

To them, nothing was wrong.

Aizen stopped at the edge of destruction and watched.

Before him, the old structures of Seireitei lay collapsed like wheat after a scythe. A massive crater yawned across the ground. Long trenches crisscrossed the earth as if a giant had dragged a blade through the city and peeled it open.

And in the center of it all was the performance of his godson.

Kurosaki Ichigo had not even used his full strength. Yet the scars he left behind were vast enough to make the heart tighten. Spirit particles had been annihilated so completely that the air itself felt thinner in places. One sweeping strike had crumbled entire sections of Seireitei, turning centuries of stone and timber into drifting dust.

Aizen stood at the crater’s rim and tilted his head up.

The sky looked endless, calm, harmless.

But hidden inside that calm were tiny dots, nearly invisible. Eyes. Watchers. The sort of presence only soone like him would bother to acknowledge.

Beside him, several captains had gathered, frowning as they examined what remained.

Under normal circumstances, there were rules. Unspoken lines captains did not cross. Boundaries they maintained even while hating each other.

But after sothing like this, those rules were worthless.

Even if Soul Society prided itself on composure, watching Seireitei’s ancient buildings get crushed into dust by a single stranger’s technique was enough to make any captain uneasy.

Shunsui Kyōraku, draped in his pink haori and looking far too relaxed for the situation, stared at the ruins with a deepening frown.

“This damage can’t be done with spiritual power,” he muttered. “It’s completely different from anything we use. I’ve never seen it before. So kind of artifact, maybe. Or an ability granted by a very special Zanpakuto. Aizen just died and we already have this ss. Please spare .”

Komamura Sajin stood behind him, broad and rigid, eyes heavy. Jūshirō Ukitake stood on the other side, one hand near his mouth as he coughed softly, sweat cold on his face.

“I don’t think it’s a Zanpakuto,” Ukitake said between coughs. “Those energies don’t feel like they co from one.”

Komamura’s voice was low, dissatisfied.

“He chose a deserted place to release it. That suggests restraint. Even so, destroying Seireitei is a grave cri.”

It had all happened too fast.

Gin Ichimaru had admitted he was powerless to stop the strange traveler. Mayuri Kurotsuchi had been cut in half at the waist, his Bankai shattered beyond recognition. After that blow, Mayuri locked himself in the Research and Developnt Bureau and did not erge.

For the first ti, events were not arriving one by one, manageable and isolated. They were stacking. Pressing together. Feeding each other.

Aizen’s death had shaken the lower ranks and the middle echelons. Rukia’s situation had ignited the nobles’ already sensitive nerves. The arrival of the traveler, who walked in, declared disappointnt, and walked out, had turned the whole city into a powder keg.

anwhile, the Central Forty Six Chambers, the supposed supre command, had closed its doors and refused all visitors. In the darkness of that silence, neither Seireitei’s mind nor its muscle was functioning properly.

Everyone was groping blindly.

“If I rember right,” Shunsui said, eyes narrowing at the trenches, “that traveler is Rukia’s friend from the human world. That’s a scary thought, having soone like that as a friend.”

Ukitake swallowed, coughing again. “He really is remarkable.”

Ichigo’s actions had been brutal in their simplicity. He had only encountered three captains, and he had only used two techniques. He had entered through the White Gate, one of Seireitei’s four gates, and stord into the core like a blade sliding into a gap.

A single Shinra Tensei had nearly thrown all of Gin’s territory into the sky. Summoned weapons had stopped even Kenpachi Zaraki from pursuing.

And when Ichigo reached Mayuri, the result was absurd.

That Golden Wheel Reincarnation Explosion contained a pressure so terrifying that nearby monitoring equipnt shattered on the spot. The devices that survived recorded numbers that did not feel real.

Compared to those numbers, wiping out part of Seireitei almost felt believable.

But the energy itself was the problem.

Ryoka in the past relied on spirit particles. Quincy. Similar existences. Familiar systems.

So what was Kurosaki Ichigo.

And how could soone reach that level so quickly.

Kuchiki Rukia had not been imprisoned for long. Even the strongest Shinigami needed years to awaken a Bankai.

So what did it an for this boy to appear and carve Seireitei apart in a matter of monts.

Shunsui sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“He’s young. The age where you still believe in friendship. Once the trial is over, we can put on a show, make it look like we fought him properly. Then we can find out whether he’s related to Aizen’s death. If he isn’t, we give him a Substitute Shinigami license and call it a day.”

Ukitake hesitated, coughing lightly. “That should work. If the balance is unclear, that is what we would normally do.”

Komamura’s tone remained grave.

“For the greater good, sacrifices are sotis necessary. But is the Commander in Chief aware of this plan. If not, we should report it. Otherwise it is improper.”

He took a step forward, heavy and resolute.

“Even if he is a wandering spirit with no sense of hierarchy, he still needs education and guidance. Wandering spirits of this era often have unrealistic ideas. Sotis painful decisions are required. If there is no report, I will go.”

Shunsui laughed bitterly.

“Thank you. I really don’t want the old man lecturing again for being lax when I was under orders.”

Then his eyes sharpened.

“But with sothing this large, has there been any new developnt in Captain Aizen’s death.”

“No progress,” Ukitake admitted. “If we want answers, we may have to capture that traveler and question him directly.”

Aizen listened quietly.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer and attached small communication devices to their bodies. Walkie talkies. Recorders. Simple things, planted with casual precision.

None of the captains noticed anything added to them.

The Shinigami around them saw nothing at all.

That was the true horror of Kyoka Suigetsu. With control over the five senses, he could do far too much. Soone could stab him through the chest and still not realize they had done it until death arrived.

Aizen had not used this thod before for one simple reason.

It was boring.

Shunsui, Ukitake, Komamura, all powerful captains. Shunsui would later lead the First Division. Ukitake carried the Soul King’s arm. Komamura would later master a terrifying Humanization Technique.

And against Aizen, none of them could resist for even a second.

They stood beside him, discussing his death with solemn certainty.

If they could not even see him breathing at their side, what battle could possibly exist between them.

Aizen could plant caras.

He could plant bombs.

He could turn Seireitei into a child’s toy box, assembling and disassembling pieces at will.

And now, after learning the shifting applications of genjutsu from the ninja world, the possibilities had only expanded. Kotoamatsukami, Tsukuyomi, those techniques were not unreachable for him.

That was why he kept insisting he was sincere.

Because if he ever decided to play, he would play like this.

Walking through Seireitei while decorating captains like dolls.

After listening long enough, Aizen opened a special channel section ant only for Ichigo’s recordings. He transmitted it through chakra, then stopped watching these captains plot against his precious son.

He walked.

Slowly.

He watched Fourth Division dics run through rubble and carry the wounded. He watched Fifth Division mbers stare into space, hollow eyed. He watched familiar and unfamiliar faces move like gears in a machine that still refused to stop, even when its heart had been torn out.

No one blocked him.

No one even glanced at him.

He took a detour to the First Division barracks.

Inside, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni sat upright, white haori draped over his shoulders, quietly reviewing the docunts in his hands. The strongest Shinigami in history did not react. Even after Aizen calmly placed surveillance equipnt in the room, Yamamoto’s expression did not change.

His eyes stayed on the scroll.

It looked simple. It was anything but.

A docunt from the Central Forty Six Chambers, the ones who truly controlled Seireitei.

Though they claid seclusion, they had still found the ti to send orders to the Commander in Chief.

Yamamoto stared at the writing for a long ti, frown deepening. He did not know how to respond.

The order was absurdly simple.

Prevent violence to the greatest extent possible.

Until a new outco was achieved, no mber of the Gotei 13 was allowed to act rashly.

An order so high, and so unreasonable, that even Yamamoto was forced into stillness.

He could sense captains gathering at the crater, examining the traveler’s traces. It was necessary work.

But the Central Forty Six Chambers could not be ignored.

Yamamoto’s silence stretched.

Aizen watched him, then shook his head.

Of course Yamamoto was confused.

There was no one left inside the Central Forty Six Chambers.

Every noble elder and every arbitrator had already been killed by Aizen and his allies. The orders were nothing but a mask, and the loyal Shinigami could only obey, bewildered, never daring to question the supre authority.

Aizen left the First Division barracks and walked toward the Central Forty Six Chambers.

This place served multiple purposes now. It transmitted false information. It also absorbed the surge of spiritual pressure created by mass deaths, its enclosed space suited for containnt.

It had also always been a place for trials and severe judgnt.

Now its owners had died in the seats they loved most.

They had fought their whole lives for a better chair in that chamber, and in the end, they died exactly where they had wanted to be.

Aizen pushed open the door.

A pungent stench washed over him.

Blood flowed like spilled ink, spreading across the semicircular steps, pooling around the defendant’s table. The blood of Soul Society’s precious bloodlines was thick, repulsive, and strangely quiet.

Behind the guards outside, the scene of over forty corpses remained unseen.

In their minds, the Central Forty Six Chambers was closed, the respected adults were fine, and all that was happening inside was a dignified waiting ga.

Aizen stepped in and looked at the two people eating and drinking among the supplies.

“Good afternoon, Kagami, Gin.”

Gin Ichimaru sat amid tangled piles of white cloth, eyes narrowed like a snake’s slit. He smiled with that familiar, unsettling grin.

“Captain Aizen looks as cheerful as ever,” Gin drawled. “Did sothing good happen.”

Not far away, Kana Tōsen sat veiled in silver. He seed to sense the movent, turned toward Aizen’s position, and gave a silent nod.

Aizen smiled back, genuinely, especially at Gin.

Then he reached into his robes and produced a dazzling sphere, letting its light spill across Gin’s face.

“Ah,” Aizen said softly. “There is good news.”

He held the shining bead up, his voice calm.

“I can return Matsumoto Rangiku’s part of her soul.”

Gin’s pupils tightened for a fraction of a second.

Then the sly, lewd smile returned to his face, like a mask snapping back into place.

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