"Cap… Captain? W-Wh... y?"
Nanao's eyes were filled with confusion. She trembled as she raised a hand, as if trying to touch Kyoraku's face, unable to understand why the captain she admired had suddenly drawn his blade against her.
That sight alone was enough to shatter any normal person's sanity.
But Kyoraku Shunsui did not scream.
He did not cry.
He simply closed his bloodshot eyes in silence. The twisted pain on his face lasted only a moment before freezing into cold stillness.
There was no way back for him anymore.
He was no longer a captain of the Gotei 13.
No longer the easygoing drunk.
He was a gambler.
A madman who had lost all his chips, lost his pride, lost his friends and family, yet still pushed his own life onto the table in a game he could never win.
After all, everyone was Rosse's toy.
After all, anyone could die at any moment.
And if they did not die, they would suffer worse later.
'In that case…'
'Let me free you.'
Slash!
Kyoraku pulled his blade out without expression, drawing a spray of vivid blood. He let Nanao's body fall backward.
He did not look at her fading eyes.
His foot struck the ground. Shunpo exploded beneath him as he charged once more at Rosse, who had reappeared nearby with that mocking smile.
'Old man…'
'Ukitake…'
'Nanao…'
As each name shattered in his heart, as each important person fell to his blade, he felt the part of himself called humanity peel away.
'If this world is fake, then I'll kill until only what's real remains.'
'If I can't tell who Rosse is, then I'll kill everything that moves.'
'When everyone is dead, the last one left must be the one I'm looking for.'
'Right?'
'Rosse!'
His heart grew colder.
His blade grew faster.
In mere moments, the other captains saw Kyoraku flicker across the battlefield like teleportation, appearing in every corner.
Slash!
Almost every vice-captain, along with Hitsugaya, Kuchiki Byakuya, Komamura Sajin, Ichimaru Gin and others, were pierced and knocked down by Kyoraku.
Two vice-captains died on the spot.
To Kyoraku, every one of them was Rosse.
Yet every time his blade pierced a body, the feedback of spiritual pressure and the reality before his eyes told him it was not Rosse.
'Iba Tetsuzaemon, Hisagi Shuhei…'
He added two more names to the list in his heart.
The fact that they died as cleanly as Nanao proved they were unrelated.
Just like when he slashed Shiba Kukaku's body earlier, causing only a minor wound. When he realized who it was and prepared to finish it, the figure vanished. No matter how he swung, he could not hit.
Clearly, that one was Rosse's ally. The injury was just for show.
He could not kill the one he wanted to kill.
Yet he could easily kill those he did not want to.
At times, mid-charge, his blade would suddenly brush against spiritual pressure. Someone had clearly stood in his path.
But he could not see them. Could not hear them. Could not sense them.
Rosse's enemies were like stray dogs on the roadside, trampled unknowingly beneath his feet.
It felt awful.
But he had no solution.
Slash!
Kyoraku stabbed forward again.
The result was the same.
The blade meant for Rosse pierced another ally.
"This time… Azashiro…"
Looking at Azashiro Soya, whose heart he had just run through, Kyoraku's eyes flickered slightly.
This one he had expected.
Azashiro's ability could counter Kyoka Suigetsu, even if Masaki suppressed him, she could not stay by Azashiro's side forever. Someone who could break five-sense control had to die today.
Compared to that, Ukitake and he, himself, were insignificant.
Whether they lived or died meant nothing to Rosse.
Kyoraku could not imagine how surviving would change anything.
After today, Rosse would likely step over Yamamoto's corpse and ascend to the peak of Soul Society.
Kyoraku looked around with distant eyes.
At some point, everything had fallen silent.
Only the wasteland left by Yamamoto's final battle remained.
Not a single person in sight.
He knew there should be many nearby.
He simply could not see or hear them.
Because his role was ending.
Those he was meant to strike had likely already fallen.
Those he was not meant to kill either took light wounds or were never part of his script.
"Now… it's my turn, isn't it?", His voice was soft but cut through the battlefield clearly.
It was not pleading.
Not provocation.
It was acceptance.
The performance was nearing its curtain call.
As the protagonist forced onto this stage, he had wagered everything.
Pride. Friends. Teacher. Even his own soul.
And he had not even touched a hair of the playwright.
This was his ending. Not even tragic. Just ridiculous.
Clang!
A bell-like sound rang, as if a spotlight had suddenly snapped on.
It exploded in the ears of Kyoraku and the dying Ukitake.
It was a signal.
Reality and illusion fused under some force.
The dark, broken battlefield lit up in Kyoraku's eyes.
Like dry ice clearing on stage, curtains drawn open, actors in place.
Those who had vanished or been killed wrongly now appeared clearly.
Kyoraku lowered his head.
He stood at the highest point of the battlefield, on a broken wall.
From here he could overlook everything like a lonely king.
Closest stood two figures side by side.
Rosse and Aizen.
Their blades pointed up at him.
Beside them, Yoruichi crouched, Ichigo gripped Zangetsu, rage nearly tangible in his eyes.
Farther away, captains lay scattered.
Unohana directed surviving vice-captains in emergency treatment.
The looks cast toward him were filled with fear and disbelief.
And farther still, a row of bodies laid neatly at the edge of the field.
Vice-captains he had killed.
And the old man, still dignified in death, chest pierced. Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni.
Their bodies had been carried away like honored heroes.
The murderer stood alone on high.
Only Ukitake lay behind him in shadow, pale, chest hollow, life flickering.
Azashiro and Masaki were nowhere to be seen.
They had no more role to play.
All conflict and despair had reached its peak.
The stage now belonged to the final villain.
"Still going to keep acting? Is this fun for you?", Kyoraku looked down at Rosse calmly.
He ignored the righteous fury behind him. Real or illusion, it did not matter. He was a puppet.
Every strike turned into a blade against allies.
Every roar became villainy.
Every struggle delighted Rosse.
Even if he killed himself, Rosse would likely stage a noble exit, perhaps even revive him later to torment the living.
Kyoraku almost laughed.
He had lost completely.
He could not see any path to victory.
"Standing so high and mighty, Captain Kyoraku, how does it feel?", Aizen's smooth voice rang out.
'High and mighty?'
'I, who can not tell truth from lie, who killed his teacher and niece... How I feel?'
Kyoraku smiled bitterly.
The injured captains' eyes burned with hatred.
All meant for Rosse and Aizen, now aimed at him.
How honored he was to play this role.
"Aizen…"
His voice was hoarse.
"At this point, what's the use of pretty words? With your current state, can you even do anything to me?"
His tone carried arrogance, not madness.
If death were his ending, he would already be dying.
Since he stood high and unbroken, death was not his script.
What was there to fear? Better to cooperate fully.
He wanted to see how absurd this ending would be.
For a fleeting moment, speaking such arrogance almost felt intoxicating.
As if he still held control.
But it was all fake.
"Even so, Captain Kyoraku, your spiritual pressure has reached its limit, hasn't it?"
Rosse stepped forward, blade in hand, standing at the very front like the final shield of Soul Society.
He raised his sword toward Kyoraku.
"You haven't used effective five-sense control on me or Aizen for a while now. If this continues, the outcome may not favor you."
Hearing that lie, Kyoraku wanted to laugh.
'You controlled everything.'
'And now you pin it on me?'
"Tch! Maybe the outcome isn't so clear."
He smiled faintly.
"But unfortunately, Captain Rosse, it seems I won't die here so easily."
He knew this Rosse was likely real.
Still, he lowered his blade.
No intent to attack.
As if saying: I'll just stand here. What can you do?
As playwright, Rosse had already prepared the carriage.
Actors' wishes never mattered.
The instant Kyoraku finished speaking—
Rip!
The sky tore open. Not clouds, space itself was ripped apart.
Buzz! Buzz!
Two enormous Garganta split the heavens like monstrous jaws.
From the depths came the hollow roars of countless Gillian.
Then, two golden beams descended from the darkness like divine judgment.
They fell precisely onto Kyoraku and Ukitake.
The moment the light enveloped them, the world felt sealed away.
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